


Outcast

by HighWarlockMegaraBane



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments (Movies), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Circle, M/M, Magnus is a shadowhunter, Mortal War, OOC but for good reason, Uprising, alec is a warlock, bit of swearing in the form of a branwell, finally hecking finished, not that slow, slow burn?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2018-10-21 04:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 66,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10677879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighWarlockMegaraBane/pseuds/HighWarlockMegaraBane
Summary: “My name is Magnus. Magnus Lightwood.”“I didn’t know Maryse and Robert had another kid."“Adopted. My parents—died. Years ago.”Alexander is your average High Warlock of Brooklyn, but what happens when he meets a cocky little Shadowhunter who's both beautiful and infuriating, lives with the family that disowned him, and ends up being wherever he happens to be, whenever he doesn't want him to be there? Because Alexander most certainly isn't gay, and most certainly has no time for a little Shadowhunter worm. He has more important things to do.





	1. Your Average High Warlock

**Author's Note:**

> Set in an alternate universe, Clary will not appear as of right now (4-19-17)  
> Updated Once/Week on Friday  
> Hiatuses will happen, you have been warned, I'll try to give more warning in advance if forseen hiatuses will occur  
> Reviews and Comments make more chapters come faster!

Alexander was your average High Warlock of Brooklyn. _Well_ , he thought to himself as he made coffee and absently pet his cat, who was rolling around on the countertop in his loft, _I suppose there isn’t an ‘average’ High Warlock of Brooklyn, seeing as how I’m the only one._

               “I guess I can’t even really be an ‘average’ warlock, either,” he sighed, waving a hand as the coffeemaker beeped and magicking the blue cup down the island toward him.

               See, Alexander was born to two Shadowhunter parents, who were so excited to have a boy who could carry on their name, a boy who could fight with the best of them, a boy who could…

               And then that boy suddenly had explosive warlock magic and cat eyes.

               No good dwelling on the past, though. Alexander—well, that was his name to his clients; to those he trusted, it was simply Alec—looked out the window over the Brooklyn skyline and sighed again. He didn’t necessarily hate that he was born the way he was (God only knew that his parents did), but part of him envied how his sister was raised, his sister and his adopted brother, and his parents’ other son—Max Lightwood, only ten but forbidden from seeing Alec, only knowing him through stories told by Isabelle and Jace.

               He had stopped aging around 20, but according to his own personal calendar, he was really around 25. Incredibly young for a warlock, but his studious and determined nature had caused his magic to progress so unbelievably quickly he was appointed to the positon of High Warlock of Brooklyn six years prior. He had single-handedly outperformed the entire Warlock Council, and now took a leading position in said council.

               He wondered when he would stop counting the years.

               “I wonder how Isabelle is?” he said quietly. His cat, named simply The Chairman, meowed at him, nosing at his fingers. Alec pet him absently. His parents didn’t like them associating with Alec, regardless of him being their kid—he was a Downworlder, they were Upworlders, and that was that. He hadn’t seen Isabelle in about six years—when he took the position of High Warlock, he was kept so busy that he only had time to text Izzy once every handful of days, and longer for her to reply. Since he had gotten word of a rogue Shadowhunter named Valentine returning and leading a Circle of cruel Shadowhunters and Downworlders, plotting against the Clave, he had not heard a word from Isabelle or Jace in almost three years.

               He assumed that if something had happened to them, someone would tell him. He didn’t know who—Robert, maybe. Maybe he would finally meet Max.

               “Wishful thinking,” Alec muttered to himself as his phone rang—probably another client. “That’s all that is. Wishful goddamn thinking.”

 --------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks later, Alexander woke up to a loud buzzing in his apartment. With a groan, he rolled ungracefully out of bed, brushed his black silk pajamas into a semi-presentable sort, and rolling his eyes.

               “If it’s the damn Girl Scouts again,” Alec muttered, looking accusingly at the box of Thin Mints and empty bottle of wine on his bedside, “I’m going to jump out the window.”

               The buzzing was repeated continuously until Alec slammed a fist against the damned button, putting his forehead on the wall as he growled, “Whoever the hell decides to wake up the High Warlock of Brooklyn better have a pretty great reason or you’ll be lucky to keep your ribs in your body.”

               There was a shuffling noise and then a nervous throat clearing. “W-Warlock Bane?”

               Alec had taken a different last name for a couple of reasons. One was that the Warlock Council did not take him seriously with a Shadowhunter last name. Another was that every other warlock he had met had a nice, easy, single-syllable last name—Fell, Loss, Pride—and he felt like he should try to fit in, at least. The third was a pun—a very cruel, cold pun aimed quite passive-aggressively at his parents. The word ‘bane’ meant, quite simply, ‘a cause of great distress or annoyance’. His mother had once called him “the _bane_ of her existence”. So, if he was a bane, why not accept it?

               “You can call me _High_ Warlock Bane,” he snapped, hitting the video button and glaring blearily at the screen that flickered to life next to him. It was a Shadowhunter, and part of him wanted to believe it was someone from his family. He knew it wasn’t, though, even if he looked like it physically. This boy had dark black hair combed into a quiff at the top of his head. His eyes were gold and he was tall and lean, the battlegear hugging him nicely in all the right areas. He could see the swell of his biceps under his long sleeves and all the weapons around his body—two seraph blades in his belt, a knife on the inside of his thigh, a sword on his back, a staff across the sword, and inside his sleeves Alec knew he would be hiding smaller weapons.

               “Ah—I’ve been sent by—by the head of the New York Institute to talk to you,” he said nervously. This brought Alec pause. The head was his father. Unless his father was absent or— No, he didn’t want to pursue that thought train.

               “What is the name of the head of the New York Institute?” he demanded. The Shadowhunter shivered in the cold and, to Alec’s shock, turned those piercing eyes directly on the hidden camera. His face was gorgeous from the front—a nice, angular jawline with a touch of a five o’clock shadow, a long nose and full lips, and makeup around his eyes done flawlessly. His skin was a deep honey color, and he could see the tip of a Mark curling up toward his ear.

               “Jace Wayland,” he said. Alec’s breath caught.

               “Jace,” he whispered, forgetting his finger was still on the button. Clearing his throat, he pressed the buzzer to let him up and stated, “Come on, I’ll hear you.”

               The Shadowhunter nodded once and opened the door. Alec waved a hand and his pajamas disappeared, replaced by a black sweater with a silver scarf, dark jeans, and black socks. He hastily finger-combed his hair down and rubbed the weariness off his face, snapping his fingers to start the coffeepot.

               There was a knock.

               Alec pulled open the door and stood there with his arms crossed. “Well?”

               The Shadowhunter raised an eyebrow. “Are…you going to invite me in? Isabelle spoke of your kindness.”

               _Ugh, she would._ With a barely concealed sneer at this Shadowhunter’s arrogance, Alec stepped aside and coldly waved him in. “And do try not to upset my cat.”

               The Chairman, as if to prove his point, hissed delicately from his spot on the counter. The Shadowhunter looked at him curiously.

               “Can I pet him?” he asked.

               “No,” Alec replied, crossing his arms. “What do you want? Or, better, what does Jace want? And who are you? Answer the last one first.”

               “My name is Magnus,” he introduced himself, gold eyes shining. “Magnus Lightwood.”

               “I didn’t know Maryse and Robert had another kid,” Alec said, much more sharply than intended.

               “Adopted,” he amended, shrugging one shoulder. “My parents—died. Years ago.”

               “I’m sorry.” Alec really meant it, but his voice sounded nonchalant.

               “As for what Jace wants—he wants your help,” he continued, nonplussed. “Valentine has been recruiting more and more Downworlders. As a warlock with suitable knowledge of the Downworld, he said you can help.”

               “I don’t deal with Shadowhunters.” The words pulled themselves from Alec’s throat like sandpaper but he didn’t hesitate as he continued; “Shadowhunters have done nothing for me except drive me to exile and forget that I have ever existed. If I wanted to, I could destroy the Institute by hardly lifting a finger. I could snap your neck without trying.” Alec held out a hand. Blue magic wrapped around Magnus’ shoulders and he gasped as it tightened, pressing his arms to his sides.

               “I could rip off your limbs.” Another finger flick and one of Magnus’ arms jerked upwards without his command. He walked in a circle around the Shadowhunter. “I could throw you across the room.” _Snap_. He was hovering a foot off the ground. Magnus had gone pale and was struggling now, but was still silent. Alec leaned in, very close to Magnus’ face (he had to lower him back down to the floor to do so) and said, very quietly, “I was the youngest warlock to _ever_ become a High Warlock. I have watched and caused the fall of empires. I have lived through Rome, fought in World War One, survived the Black Plague.” He jabbed a ringed finger into Magnus’ chest. “You are _powerless_ and _insignificant_ like every other Shadowhunter I have had the _pleasure_ of meeting.” The word ‘pleasure’ dripped sarcasm.

               Magnus frowned. “No, you haven’t,” he said softly. Alec narrowed his eyes.

               “That’s a strong assumption to be making, Upworlder,” he warned. “Choose your next words with care.”

               “I have—lived with the Lightwoods for…ten years,” he explained slowly, no longer struggling. “I have spoken with Isabelle, Jace, and Max, and I know your story, Alexander Lightwood.”

               The use of his old name took him by such surprise that his magic faltered. Magnus took a hasty step backwards, rubbing his upper arm where the magic had gripped him.

               “What did you call me?” he whispered, not even saying the words so much as moving his lips and exhaling.

               “Your birth name. Alexander Gideon Lightwood. You were born to Maryse and Robert Lightwood in September of 1989 in Idris, the Shadowhunter city. You would have taken your Marks at ten years old if you had not had a sudden explosion of magic at nine. Your warlock mark developed not long after, and Maryse—”

               “ _I know the story_ ,” Alec roared, suddenly livid. Magic crackled at his hands with a sound like thunder. The lights flickered. Magnus stepped back again, one hand going to a seraph blade. “I lived the goddamn story!” he continued in the same loud voice. “I was there when Maryse disowned me! I was there when I was thrown out into the world at the ripe age of _twelve_! I was _there_ when I had to _throw myself upon the mercy of Ragnor Fell_ , hoping that one day, I might not be quite the _scourge_ as my family saw me for!”

               A lightbulb overhead shattered and rained glass. Magnus was breathing almost as hard as Alec. The warlock’s chest was throbbing and his hands were shaking. He turned away.

               “Leave.” His voice dropped to a harsh murmur.

               “But—High Warlock Bane—Jace says—”

               “You—You tell that damned half-brother of mine,” Alec said, in such a calm voice that he felt Magnus freeze, “you tell him that if he wants me, he is to call on my presence himself, and not send some—some orphaned half-wit to dirty my doorstep with his—his _angelic presence._ ” Alec turned over his shoulder and said, in the same voice, “And let me teach you a good life lesson, _Magnus Demetrius Lightwood._ You would do _well_ to keep your filthy Nephilim nose where it _belongs_. Now get out of my sight.”

               Magnus hesitated. “How did you know my—?”

               “I said to _leave_ or I will _show you out myself_!” Alec shouted. The door banged open behind Magnus. Biting his lower lip hard, Magnus turned and ran. Alec cut a hand across the front of his body and the door slammed. He heard the Shadowhunter’s running footsteps retreating down the hallway.

               The Chairman rose gracefully to his tiny paws and padded across the counter, meowing softly, and he touched his cool nose to Alec’s upper arm. The warlock turned and picked him up, part of him feeling guilty for shouting at the boy but part of him still angry. The cat reached up and headbutted Alec’s chin.

               “I love you too,” he said softly to his cat. And Magnus’ final question was a good one—how did Alec know his middle name? Well, to be true, Alec had mastered just earlier that year the finer points of elementary psychic magic. That meant that knowledge that was second nature to people, knowledge they didn’t bother trying to hide or suppress, floated to the top of their potato-like minds like a dead fish, waiting to be scooped from the water. That had been one of the things Alec had picked up on.

               That, and fear of Alec. Fear of his magic. But that fear had only lasted until Alec had started lying. Then another thought had swarmed— _he’s bluffing._

               But while Alec had been bluffing about his age, he had not been about his power. Jace and Isabelle should know that. So why had they not warned this little beetle?

               Alec thought back to the last time he had seen Isabelle and Jace. It was right after his High Warlock test. They had been in the Sanctuary.

               _“So you’re a High Warlock now!” Isabelle cried, throwing her arms around her brother’s neck excitedly. “Oh, Alec, I’m so proud of you!”_

_Jace clapped Alec on the back, grinning. “You’ve done good, Alec,” he commented._

_“Where are Mo—Maryse and Robert?” Alec inquired, catching himself as he almost made the mistake Maryse hated so much. “And Max?”_

_Isabelle’s face fell as she pulled back. “Oh…Alec.”_

_Alec, confused, turned to his brother. Jace looked away._

_“What?” Alec said, his hands tightening on Isabelle’s upper arms. “What’s wrong? Izzy? What’s wrong? Is everyone okay?”_

_“Don’t worry about that, everyone’s fine.” Isabelle backhanded her eyes. “It’s just that—”_

_“Maryse has forbidden Max from meeting you,” Jace murmured. Alec’s blood ran cold._

_“What?” Alec whispered. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing._

_“Mom and Dad don’t want Max to know you,” Isabelle explained reluctantly. “They’re still—ashamed.”_

_“Of the demon spawn that I became,” Alec supplied, “instead of the angel I was supposed to be.” He turned away. “Maybe they’re right not to let him meet me. Maybe I’d just ruin him too.”_

_“Alec, you aren’t ruined!” Isabelle cried. “Downworlders are people too!”_

_“You sound like an activist poster,” he said bitterly._

_“She’s right, Alec.” Jace’s soft hand landed on his shoulder. “You aren’t ruined. Just because you aren’t a Shadowhunter doesn’t give them any right to disown you like they did. Hell, I still like you.” He smiled reassuringly._

_Alec forced a smile. “Means a lot, Jace. Really.” He meant it. He paused and looked down. “You know—I was going to ask you to be my_ parabatai _.”_

_Jace smiled wider. “I was going to ask you the same.” He held out a fist. “We’re still brothers, though. No matter what.”_

_Alec bumped his hand, a lump rising in his throat. “Still brothers. You call me if you ever need me. I will drop whatever I’m doing. I’ll be here in a heartbeat.”_

_Jace smiled and nodded. “I won’t hesitate. You take care.”_

_“Where are you going to go?” Isabelle asked._

_“I have an apartment lined up on the Upper East Side,” Alec replied, looking out the windows and seeing the sun rising over the skyline. “I’ll go there. Maybe I’ll get a cat. I won’t be alone. Just a phone call away.”_

_Isabelle gripped his hands in hers. “Take care.”_

_“Ave atque vale, frater,” Jace murmured. Alec wanted to comment that he wasn’t dying, but he couldn’t bring himself to, so he just hugged them both and left before Maryse and Robert could see him._

               Alec sighed and picked up the coffeepot that was slowly cooling. He poured himself a mug and drank it. It was still hot enough to warm his throat from the inside out, almost scalding but not there. The Chairman sniffed the mug and turned away, disinterested. Alec snapped his fingers and the cat’s food dish filled itself. The Chairman jumped down and sauntered over to his bowl, eating quietly.

               “Just a phone call, Jace,” Alec murmured, watching the sun rise like it had every day for the past twenty-five years. “Just a phone call.”


	2. Story of A Lonely Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in an alternate universe, Clary will not appear as of right now (4-19-17)  
> Updated Once/Week on Friday  
> Hiatuses will happen, you have been warned, I'll try to give more warning in advance if forseen hiatuses will occur  
> Reviews and Comments make more chapters come faster!

Three hours later, Alec had just finished making another potion for a werewolf—a regular client of his recovering from a narcotics addiction—when his cellphone rang. He picked up and eyed the unknown number with a bit of wariness. Deciding he could deal with whatever was on the other end, he picked it up and said, “High Warlock Bane, if you’re a solicitor I’m not here, anyone else had better have a good reason to talk.”

               “Wow, I don’t recall you being so cynical last time we talked.”

               Alec’s stomach dropped to his toes. “ _Jace_ ,” he gasped, grabbing the edge of the countertop hard as his head spun. The Chairman raised his head from his nap.

               “Hey buddy,” Jace replied. “Magnus came home and said you attacked him.”

               “I didn’t attack him,” Alec lied, feeling the old defiance rise in his stomach like acid. “And another thing—why did you tell a random Shadowhunter about my past?”

               “He lives with us, Alec,” Jace replied, and then his voice disappeared to yell something before he came back. “It was only fair that he knew.”

               “And that’s _another!_ ” Alec exclaimed. “He said he’s been living with you guys for ten years! Where was he when I came back after my High Warlock examination?”

               “In the infirmary,” Jace replied easily. “A mission gone awry, lots of burns, the like. He showed up at the Institute not long after—” He stopped. “After you left.”

               Alec didn’t reply to that.

               “Listen, Alec.” He sighed. “I sent Magnus to fetch you because I can’t leave to do it myself. Robert and Maryse are in Idris with Max, they have been for a year. I’ve been left in charge, but since the Circle and Valentine have gotten more aggressive and more prominent, we’ve gotten so many Shadowhunters coming and going, and the wards need reinforcing, and—” He paused and took a deep breath as his words began to speed up and trip over each other. “I need help. That’s what I’m saying. I need to know what you know.”

               Alec sat down on his barstool, knees weak. The Chairman rose and padded toward him, nudging his hand and meowing for pets. Alec absently rubbed his head.

               “I didn’t think that the first time I talked to you in three years would be—like this,” Alec replied. “I thought it would be more, ‘hey buddy, wanna go get coffee?’ Or even ‘Isabelle gave us all food poisoning and you need to come home and heal us’. Has her cooking improved?”

               “No,” Jace snorted, then his voice dropped. “She’s making dinner. Please, bring food with you when you come.”

               Alec smiled. “I love how you assume I’m coming,” he joked.

               “You said before that if I needed you, you would, quote, ‘drop everything’ and ‘be there in a heartbeat’.”

               The warlock sighed and snapped his fingers. His coat and scarf zoomed in from the hallway, and wound themselves around Alec’s body. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said. “Let the wards know not to fry me.”

               Jace spoke, and his voice was so quiet Alec barely caught it. “The wards have always been set up to accept you, Alec.”

 

Alexander was your average High Warlock of Brooklyn. But even his immortal heart shuddered in fear as he saw the Institute again, for the first time in six years. He took a step through the wards and it was like plunging through icy water. He shivered, and then the warmth returned. He heard a bell ring in one of the high towers of the Institute, and smiled as he knew that Isabelle and Jace would be sprinting for the Sanctuary to greet him.

               He wound through the garden and around the side of the massive church, his boots making little noise on the frosty cobblestone. He reached the massive oak door and looked up at the carving over the door. _Omnes unum sunt et fortes._ We are all one and together we are strong. It was a line from the Accords, that splendid document that provided for the peace between the Upworld and the Downworld. With a faint smile, Alec pushed into the door.

               The Sanctuary was a high-ceilinged room with another pair of heavy doors that he knew lead into the rest of the Institute. He put his hands into his pockets and looked around. It hadn’t changed much—some chairs were scattered around and paintings on the ceiling depicted Lilith descending into Hell (for the warlocks); a starry night sky with a wolf howling at the moon (for the werewolves); a huge natural portrait for the fey; and for the vampires, old gothic castles and a portrait of Vlad the Impaler.

               The door banged open. “Alec!” Isabelle shrieked, her heels clicking as she raced across the stone floor and threw herself against him. He grunted and hugged her back just as tight, and her strong arms threatened to crush all the air out of her lungs. She was talking, very fast and into his shoulder, and he couldn’t hear a word, but he didn’t care. She was here and so was he and that was all he cared about.

               Jace was next, running after her, and even in a very un-Jace-esque manner, he tackled them both, one arm around Alec’s neck and the other around Izzy’s back, and his forehead pressed against Alec’s cheek.

               “You’ve gotten taller,” he murmured, his hand squeezing Alec’s other shoulder and arm tight around his neck. Alec couldn’t reply and merely moved one arm, with difficulty, from around Izzy’s middle and wrapping it around Jace’s, pulling him closer. He smelled like Alec remembered the library smelling—old and worn and full of books, but there was still that distinct smell of _Jace_ underneath it.

               They stood like that until Alec’s back began to cramp and he patted both of them on the shoulder blade, laughing slightly as he said, “Guys, come on, I can’t breathe.”

               They both stepped back, smiling. Izzy’s face was flushed and she was grinning widely. Jace was smiling too and he put his hands in his pockets. Alec noticed his button-up shirt was only half-done and his belt was unbuckled. He grinned.

               “Did I interrupt something?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

               Jace laughed. “No, I was sitting in the library trying to get mission reports finalized.”

               “He doesn’t leave the library,” Izzy joked. “I’m pretty sure he lives there now.”

               The door creaked and Alec tipped his head, looking past Jace. The dark-haired, golden-eyed Shadowhunter from that morning was standing in the doorway, looking awkward.

               “Am I—interrupting?” he asked, making eye-contact with Alec. He was gorgeous, and Alec struggled to balance that feeling with the rising anger from that morning that was quickly returning.

               “No, Magnus, come on in,” Jace replied. He shot Alec a ‘be nice’ look and smiled at the other Shadowhunter. “Magnus, this is our brother, Alec.”

               “Alexander,” the warlock said immediately, crossing his arms. Izzy’s brow furrowed.

               “You hate that name,” she replied. Alec put his chin up.

               “To my clients, I am either Alexander or High Warlock Bane. _Alec_ is reserved for friends and family.” _Neither of which you are._

               Jace elbowed him in the ribs. “In that case, call him Alec.” He smirked. “See how long it takes before he fries you.”

               Magnus, who had not once broken eye contact with the warlock, shrugged. “Sure.”

               Alec almost fired back a retort, then realized he didn’t care enough, and satisfied himself with a sneer. Magnus turned away.

               “I pulled the files you wanted, Jace,” he said. “You want them in here or…?”

               Before Jace could reply, Alec grinned. “I’ve been working on a spell to bypass the holy ground dilemma,” he stated. Izzy’s eyes widened and Jace looked startled. Even Magnus’ lips parted and he turned back. “Let me try it; there seems like no better time than the present. You might want to stand back”—his smile turned feral—“this could get _hot_.”

               Immediately, every Shadowhunter took several paces backwards.

               Alec cupped his hands together and focused. A ball of blue magic appeared in his palms. He began whispering to it, and it swirled and frothed, going from blue to white to purple and back. Narrowing his eyes, he crushed in in both hands and closed his eyes. The magic wrapped around his soul and pulled at his heart, warming him from the inside out. A glowing, smoking, swirling mass surrounded him, the air inside the mini-cyclone spinning on its own axis. He opened his eyes and tipped his head up. Focused on the painting of Lilith. Didn’t stop muttering.

               “ _Dona mihi obvius huic sanctae laborabant,”_ he chanted, _“da mihi benedictionem: et sanguis meus, genio versetur, ut non bulliat_. Let my blood of demons remain intact—let me leave this place whole and unharmed—my father who art in Hell, unhallowed be thy name, commands it be such.”

               There was a blinding flash and Alec was pushed backwards a couple steps. Gasping, he clutched at his heart as it sped up and then slowly dropped back down to speed. Izzy took a few hasty steps forward and then stopped.

               “Alec?” she asked nervously. He turned his head to look at them and smiled.

               “Did it work?” Jace asked.

               Magnus looked perplexed. “What’d you do?” he asked.

               Alec merely strode past them all without speaking, waving a hand and swinging the door open. His heart began thrumming hard again, but he closed his eyes—stepped over the threshold onto holy ground—Izzy gasped—

               And he turned to laugh triumphantly at them. “It worked!” he exclaimed, holding out both hands in a sweeping gesture. “I wasn’t sure it would! I had a forty percent chance of dying!”

               “Forty?” Jace echoed, dumbstruck. “That’s—”

               “Probably an over-approximation considering my skills,” Alec reconsidered, counting on his fingers. “Maybe a thirty percent. Twenty-five. I’m not sure.”

               “I was going to say suicidal,” Jace finished flatly.

               He waved a hand dismissively. “To the library, anyone?”

 

The library hadn’t changed in the years, Alec noted as they entered the giant, towering room. His gaze found his favorite armchair, still sitting in the bay windows overlooking the skyline. He smiled a little and let his eyes wander. A huge table that certainly hadn’t been there years before was sitting in the center of the circular room, papers and files scattered about it.

               Jace walked around the table and dropped into a worn desk chair, the wheels clicking as he pulled himself up to the table. Alec sat nearby, his eyes already scanning the papers. Izzy sat on Jace’s other side, and Magnus headed for the desk to pour tea from a pot that sat on a silver tray. Alec noted him pouring four cups. _At least he’s polite._

               “This is what we have on the Circle,” Jace began, pushing a file at Alec. He flipped it open and looked over it. It had a picture of Valentine and the names of several documented members, as well as details and pictures of their horrendous experiments.

               “These are disgusting,” Alec muttered, eyes widening. “Marking Downworlders and mundanes, creating Forsaken, injecting mundanes with demon blood, f-forcing werewolves to Change and then M-Marking them, torturing vampires by tying them up in—in greenhouses with silver—warlocks drained of their—” Alec’s stomach flipped and he couldn’t speak anymore. He swallowed the bile in his throat and put a hand to his stomach.

               The pictures were worse. There was a vampire bound on a silver pole, dead, burning with a silver chain attaching his neck and arms together. A dead wolf, fur burned away with Marks carved into his fur. A faerie without wings, and only bloody gashes on his back. Several Forsaken. Alec had to shut the folder and take a few steadying breaths before he vomited.

               Jace nodded gravely. “And that’s not even all of them. Those are just the ones we know about. You think they’re bad now, you should see them in person.” His face had no color. Looking down, he opened another file and rifled through some more papers. “The Downworld won’t help us. They believe that all Shadowhunters are in league with Valentine. Hence the main reason for the wards.” He pushed a paper toward Alec. Thoroughly nauseated, he grabbed the paper and glanced over it. It was a letter, badly burned and addressed to someone named Hunter.

               “A werewolf turned this in,” Izzy chimed in. “We told the local werewolf pack that our Sanctuary was open for them to shelter if they needed or wanted it, and one wolf showed up, burned and bloodied, and gave us this. We tried to save her, but…” She shook her head.

               “She died in the infirmary,” Magnus put in. He set a porcelain cup of tea in front of Alec, who picked it up. It smelled of elderflower and ginger. Jace and Izzy left theirs untouched. “Sugar?” Magnus asked, holding out a bowl of sugar cubes.

               “Ah—two,” Alec replied.

               “Of course, High Warlock,” Magnus murmured, dropping them in and laying a spoon by Alec’s side.

               “For God’s sake, Magnus, sit down with us,” Jace snapped. “I’ve told you time and time again you don’t owe us a damn thing and we need and value your input.”

               “I wanted tea,” Magnus shot right back, “and figured it would be rude to get some for myself and not everyone.”

               “Both of you, knock it off,” Izzy intervened, her hand that was on the table clenching into a fist. “I’m sick of listening to you two bicker all the time.”

               Alec’s eyebrows raised as the tension in the room thickened like a soup left on the stove for too long. “Okay, let’s all take a step back,” he said, holding up both hands in a calming motion. “Jace, breathe. Lightwood, sit.” The name felt strange to be used while speaking to another.

               Magnus sneered slightly and dropped into a chair by Izzy, sipping at his tea. Jace rose to his feet and began to pace. Alec picked up the letter and began to read it. It was scrawled in a loopy handwriting that Alec recognized faintly. It was so burned in some places that some words were completely illegible.

               _Dear Hunter:_

_It has been brought to my attention that you are someone of significant power --- influence. I would like to in--------a meeting at 23--------------borough Avenue on ------------------20----. I hope that the thin-------will be----ying will be enough to con--------pack that it would be benefic--------to ally--------------several other Downworl-------------in------------sh------------------------toge--------------------------we are st----------------------------h------------------------s---------------me--------p----------------_

_Sign------------_

_\------ti-----------st-------n_

The end of the letter was almost completely singed and ash-damaged that only a few letters were legible.

               “We think we’ve gotten most of it recovered,” Magnus said, standing up and stretching across the table to point. Alec caught a whiff of sandalwood shampoo. “’I hope that things I will be saying will be enough to convince your pack that’—”

               “It would be beneficial to ally with me and several other Downworlders in brothership, standing together against a greater evil,” Alec recited, closing his eyes and putting his head back. “Because we are all one, and together we are strong. I hope to see you there and cannot wait to meet you in person. Signed, Valentine Morgenstern.”

               The Shadowhunters stared at him. “How do you know that?” Izzy demanded. “We haven’t been able to decipher it after ‘Downworlders’.”

               “Because I got one too, last week,” Alec muttered. “The meeting I got invited to is tomorrow night.”

               “Alec!” Izzy gasped. “You can’t!”

               “No, don’t you see?” Jace broke in, speaking for the first time since Magnus had joined them. He leaned over the table, excited. “If Alec goes, Valentine will think he has the support of the Warlock Council, but he’ll really be spying for us!” He straightened and punched one fist into the other palm. “Once we know where the meeting is, we can crash it and take some of the Circle members hostage!”

               “I think it’s too dangerous,” Magnus said, shaking his head. “If Valentine finds out that Alec’s a spy, then he won’t hesitate to kill him.”

               Alec’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not that easy to kill, Lightwood.”

               “Stop it,” Izzy scolded, always the peacekeeper. “I keep thinking you’re talking to me. And quit antagonizing each other.”

               “Maybe we should ask Alec what he thinks about the plan,” Magnus muttered, glowering. Three sets of eyes turned to the warlock, who suddenly felt put on the spot. He cleared his throat and let his gaze wander. Jace’s gold eyes were unreadable as ever. Izzy’s deep brown ones were full of an emotion that Alec couldn’t recognize. And then Magnus. _Magnus Demetrius Lightwood._ That withdrawn little Shadowhunter worm who knew too much for his own good and kept a quiet balance of cockiness and shyness at the same time. Alec refused to look away.

               “I was planning on going anyway,” Alec said slowly, “just to see what crazy crap he’s preaching. I wouldn’t support him, don’t get me wrong,” he added as Jace paled and opened his mouth to protest. “I just want to be able to bring _something_ to the Warlock Council the next time we meet.”

               “You can bring the support of the New York Institute, too,” Jace told him, pacing again. “If the Warlock Council agrees to help us, we’ll be that much stronger and have a higher chance of trumping Valentine. We need their strength.” He spun Alec in his chair and put both hands on his shoulders, an intense expression on his face that Alec didn’t recognize. “Please, Alec. We need your help.”

               Alec put both of his hands over Jace’s and sighed. “I can…see what I can do,” he resented. “But Maddox—the head of the Warlock Council—he isn’t a very easy guy to persuade.”

               “Thank you, Alec,” Izzy exclaimed, jumping up and running to embrace her brother. She threw her thin arms around his neck and kissed his temple. “Thank you so much, this will help us like you can’t imagine.”

               Alec smiled and wrapped his arms around hers. “Of course, Iz,” he replied, hoping he hadn’t just made a promise he couldn’t keep.

 

Alec stood in the library after the others had retired to the kitchen, his fingers running over the spines of the spellbooks. He had been about to pull one down when he heard a soft sound from behind him, like a muted footstep.

               “Why do you look like that all the time?”

               “Like what?” Alec snapped.

               “So—angry at the world.” Magnus shuffled a little as Alec grabbed the spellbook and let it fall open in his hands, thumbing the pages.

               “Well, it was in an attempt to keep people away, but you’re still here, so it looks like my attempt failed,” Alec replied, pausing on an untranslated spell.

               “Well, I mean—you’re a lot like Jace was, when I first got here.”

               Alec stopped, and then turned around. “What makes you say that?”

               Magnus pulled at his shirtsleeves and raised his eyes. His hair was combed and gelled up again. He had touched up his makeup and had painted his eyelids with a soft powder blue glitter and dark makeup around his gold eyes, contrasting sharply with his olive skin. Alec dimly wondered how he got away with wearing makeup around Maryse and Robert. The witchlight danced over his angular face and gave it harder edges than before. He looked older than twenty-two.

               “I just mean—Jace was pretty withdrawn,” he replied. He met Alec’s eyes steadily. “I was—twelve? When I showed up, I mean.” He blinked slowly. “It was just after you—left. He and I got into more fistfights than I can count. Almost every night we ended up in the infirmary while Izzy scolded both of us. Then one day, just before I turned fifteen, we were training and Jace bet me that I couldn’t do a flip off of the top balance bars in the training room—you know the ones, the thirty-five-foot-up ones—and land on the lowest bar. I was desperate to prove him wrong.”

               “Lots of people get that way around Jace,” Alec commented, feigning disinterest and continuing to leaf through the book. “You aren’t special.”

               “So, I took off my safety harness to prove I wasn’t afraid.” Magnus laughed. It was clear sound like a bell. It rang through the library. “And I got up on that top bar—and I remember it, I shouted, “I’ll show you!” And I jumped. And I did a flip and suddenly realized I had overshot my mark. I panicked. A fall like that would have killed me if I didn’t land on my feet.

               “Jace saved me, actually. I heard him shout something, and I closed my eyes, waiting for the impact. Then I blacked out, and the next thing I remember, he was waking me up by throwing water in my face. Apparently, he dove after me. After that, we never fought again.”

               “Sounds like you two are close,” Alec replied distantly, raising the book to his face and examining a drawing.

               “Well, I’m not near as perfect as Jace is,” he said, finally looking away. He pulled his sleeves down to his wrists and crossed his arms. “Hell, the whole Lightwood family is perfect. Perfect lineage, perfect fighters—”

               Alec barked out a derisive laugh, jerking his head up. “Say the phrase ‘Lightwoods are flawless’ to Maryse and she’ll draw you a diagram of why they’re not. The center of the diagram will be _this_ face.” He gestured to himself.

               “We’re…a lot alike, you know,” Magnus ventured with a tiny smile. “Both outcasts. Troubled past.” He looked down. “Broken.”

               “Why do you think I’m like you, Upworlder?” Alec snapped, irritated again. He glared at the book, wondering if he could burn it with the sheer power of his mind. “Haven’t you ever heard any Shadowhunter talking? Downworlders are lesser-thans.”

               “Oh, I don’t believe that. I don’t believe that any more than I believe that half-blooded Shadowhunters are lesser-thans.” He pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows and turned to another bookshelf, looking, but the distance in his eyes told Alec he wasn’t seeing what was in front of him. “I was born in Jakarta.”

               “Indonesia?” Alec asked, closing the book slowly and finally looking up. “Why are you in New York?”

               He smiled faintly. “My mother was a wonderful woman,” he murmured, his gaze drifting up to one of the stained-glass windows—the picture of Raziel giving the Cup to Johnathan Shadowhunter. “She loved me more than—more than anything, really,” he said with a faint laugh. “My stepfather was—a kind man to me, at least. He was abusive toward my mother. Looking back on it, I think—I think my mother used to be a Shadowhunter.” He rubbed the back of his neck, smile fading. “She had scars all over her body like Marks, but they weren’t black. She always told me she’d tell me one day.”

               “What happened?” Alec asked, barely audible.

               “She—killed herself.” Magnus’ face darkened. “I think it was my stepfather’s fault, although he blamed me. He turned his abuse to me. One of my friends taught me self-defense. This went on for about a year before he got incredibly drunk on _semangat_ —a kind of beer from Jakarta—and when he came after me I just…snapped.” He shrugged. “I roundhouse kicked him and knocked him out cold. I packed up my things and left, and…set fire to the house.”

               Alec’s stomach flipped. This boy had to have no heart to kill the only father figure he’d ever known!

               “The Institute in Jakarta took me in then and explained what I was, and what my mother probably was,” he continued. “I trained there for a couple years before I told the head I wanted to leave. That I was bored in Jakarta.” He paced to the window and looked out. “He pulled some strings and got me to London. The Branwells live there, you know. But they were full, so they contacted Maryse and Robert, and they agreed to take me.” He smiled sadly, turning back to Alec. “And that’s the story of Magnus Lightwood, and how this poor little orphan boy came to live in America.”

               “I’m—sorry,” Alec said quietly. “But—why are you telling me this? I just met you this morning.”

               Magnus blinked once and cocked his head. There was glitter on his eyelashes that had fallen from his lids. It caught the white witchlight like beacons.

               “We’re a lot alike,” he repeated. “I don’t think either of us really feel like we belong.”

               Alec opened his mouth to reply when Magnus’ phone rang in his pocket. He glanced at the screen and turned toward the doors.

               “Come on, Izzy finished dinner.”


	3. Heartache and Heartache Doubled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in an alternate universe, Clary will not appear as of right now (4-19-17)  
> Updated Once/Week on Friday  
> Hiatuses will happen, you have been warned, I'll try to give more warning in advance if forseen hiatuses will occur  
> Reviews and Comments make more chapters come faster!

Dinner was—was it even edible? Alec nervously poked at the blackened lump on his plate with his fork. Jace set a can of soda in front of the warlock, sipping at his own. Magnus was, to no avail, trying to stab a hole in said lump with his knife.

               “Um, Iz,” he asked, his voice carefully neutral. “This looks delicious, but what—is it?”

               “Chicken,” she said, as if that was obvious. “And I made pasta.” She dropped a heavy porcelain bowl on the mahogany table. The pasta looked like several long worms stuck together, floating in a bowl of glue. Magnus put a hand over his mouth.

               Alec, under the table, snapped his fingers the second Izzy’s back was turned. In a hasty flash of blue sparks, the blackened chicken turned into grilled fillets, topped with a white sauce and a sprig of mint. The pasta became heavy folds of fettuccine alfredo with more chicken diced in it.

               “Ah!” Jace exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “This looks delicious, Iz!” He cut eagerly into the chicken breast as the Shadowhuntress turned back around and looked, confused, at the table. Then she met Alec’s eye and glared.

               He smiled weakly and busied himself with cutting.

               “Back to our earlier topic,” she said instead, sitting down heavily and twirling her fettuccine on her fork. “When is the next High Warlock Council meeting?”

               Alec waved a hand over the table and a watery image of his calendar appeared. Frowning, he peered at it, tapping a finger on the table. Jace leaned over the table, obviously in awe, and ran a finger across the image. Alec smacked his wrist away.

               “This weekend,” he concluded, letting the image vanish. “I’ve got to travel to London.”

               “London?” the three Shadowhunters echoed—two confused and one excited.

               “It’s London’s year to host,” he explained, taking a big bite of the chicken breast. “Every year, each city gets a chance to host that year’s meetings. London won the drawing this year. Phoenix, Arizona, was last year. New York City is probably next year. It’s been quite a while since the meetings have been held here.”

               “Do you plan to Portal to London?” Jace asked, and then caught himself. “Of course, you do.”

               “Nope, I’m going to hail a cab to London,” Alec mocked sarcastically. “One of those magical flying ones.”

               “What if they _made_ those, though?” Jace suggested with a cocky grin. Alec rolled his eyes.

               “I forgot you can make Portals now,” Izzy commented with a bright smile. Alec laughed and put his fork back to his chicken. “Are you okay, Magnus?” she added, redirecting his attention to the other Shadowhunter. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

               The dark-haired boy was jerked to attention by her voice, having been staring unseeingly at the table. He laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his head.

               “Peachy,” he said with a sweet smile. “No need for concern, Iz.”

               He was lying. That much Alec knew off the bat. He narrowed his eyes and forced his way into Magnus’ head.

               Pictures were flashing though his subconscious—a blonde girl with two long, pleated braids; a dark-haired boy with green eyes and a distrustful gaze; an older couple dancing and laughing to unheard music; a huge 18th century castle, glamoured to look abandoned, with the motto of the Clave arcing over the high doorway in Latin. The pictures spun, faster and faster, until Alec couldn’t keep up and he had to jerk back and take a deep breath like a diver resurfacing. His hands were white on the table and his stomach flipped.

               “Alec?” Jace half-stood, all humor gone and concern lighting up his features. “Are you okay? You’ve gone white.”

               Alec shook his head wordlessly, trying to still his heart, waving Jace back into his seat. His mind was like a hurricane.

               _What are you, Magnus Lightwood?_

 

After dinner, Alec bid Jace and Izzy farewell, holding three portfolios and a new spellbook under his arm. They only let him leave under the promise that he would return after his trip to London, and call them post-attending Valentine’s meeting the next night.

               “Alec!” The voice chased him as Alec began the trek down the sidewalk back to his flat. He stopped and turned. Magnus was running after him, and Alec had to fight back a groan of annoyance. He couldn’t escape this little worm.

               “What?” he asked irritably as the Shadowhunter pulled to a stop in front of him.

               “When you go to London,” he said firmly, straightening up and meeting Alec’s eye, “I want to go too.”

               “Absolutely not.”

               Magnus’s contoured face fell a little. “Why?”

               “Because I am going on _business_ , not to babysit a Nephilim,” he replied coldly.

               A canine showed at the corner of Magnus’ mouth, the most distaste Alec had seen on his face. “You wouldn’t have to _babysit_ anyone. I’m a bred fighter. I can take care of myself.”

               “Then go to London yourself.” Alec spun on his heel and kept walking. Magnus darted after him.

               “Why do you hate me so much?” Magnus asked, edging in front of the warlock and forcing him to stop.

               “Because you can’t keep your nose in your own business, upset my cat, woke me up, and live with my family.” Alec was ticking reasons off on his fingers. “I can go on.”

               Magnus put his hands on his cocked hips, tipping his head. “You know, I usually charm the pants off of anyone I meet.”

               “Well, your _charm_ won’t work on me,” Alec commented dryly, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve got a belt.”

               “I’m sure I could get your pants off one way or another.”

               The comment took Alec so off guard that he felt the heat rising to his face faster than he could register. Shaking his head hard, he brushed past the Shadowhunter and continued walking. “You aren’t as smooth as you like to think you are.” He switched the portfolios and book to his other arm.

               Magnus was at his side, hands in his pockets, gaze coolly ahead. “I want to come to London.”

               “I want to go home.”

               “You _are_ going home.”

               Alec stopped yet again. “ _Alone_ ,” he enunciated. Magnus rolled forward onto the balls of his feet, eyes sparkling, grinning in a feline manner. He was obviously enjoying tormenting Alec.

               “I like your eyes,” he said abruptly. “The blue.”

               Alec jerked his head away and kept walking, inclining his head. “My warlock mark, you mean,” he growled. “No one sees the _color_. And anyway, it’s just _blue_. The most common eye color known to man.”

               “I think it’s a nice blue.” Magnus was a couple paces behind the warlock. “And I didn’t see your mark at first. I like the color blue. It’s the color of the sky on a warm morning.”

               Alec shook his head, shutting his eyes hard as he kept walking. His eyes that had been the source of his rejection from his family, the thing that had exiled him, the damned things that had made him an outcast—

               “Watch it!”

               Alec’s eyes snapped open as Magnus’s hand gripped his upper arm and jerked him to the side, pulling him out of the path of the light pole. The portfolios and book hit the sidewalk with a papery crash, scattering across the sidewalk. Alec stumbled into the Shadowhunter, turning to push him away.

               “I can walk,” Alec snapped, his hands suddenly shaking. He spun around and crouched, shuffling all the papers into a hasty pile and struggling to arrange them. The harsh yellow glow of the streetlight threw his shadow onto the sidewalk. A second shadow joined it. Magnus’s Marked hands joined him. Alec jerked away as their skin brushed.

               He snatched up the folders and book and rose to his feet, his hair falling into his face and papers clutched to his chest. “I need to get home,” he muttered. “My cat’s waiting. He can’t sleep alone.”

               “Alec, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Magnus said, faintly wounded as he reached out a hand. Alec recoiled, reacting instinctively. He, without even moving, with barely a thought, threw up a magic shield that forced Magnus to take a step back. The Shadowhunter’s face fell and didn’t perk back up this time.

               “I’m—sorry,” he whispered. His gold eyes looked down. Alec’s cat eyes followed them. The magic dissipated. Magnus still kept his distance.

               “I’ll—get back to you about London,” Alec heard himself saying. Magnus looked back up, eyes dull. Gold met blue.

               “No is an okay answer,” Magnus replied, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows and shoving his hands back in his pockets. His shoulders stayed pushed back but his chin was down. It was Alec’s turn to look away. In the darkness, a bat shrieked.

               “I’ll get back to you,” Alec repeated. “I’ve got—clients before that. This meeting tomorrow. I haven’t even begun to think about the Portal.”

               Magnus sucked in his lower lip and nodded once, curtly. “I’ve got to get back,” he said awkwardly. “I’ll—let you get home.”

               He turned and paced back along the sidewalk, boots making no noise. When he thought Alec couldn’t see, he let his shoulders fall.

               Alec didn’t miss it. His heart ached in a way it had never done before. He felt guilty for hurting Magnus’ feelings. _But I don’t have a reason to feel like this,_ Alec tried to reason to himself, turning his back and continuing on the walk to his apartment. _He’s just a Shadowhunter worm. Why do I care about the feelings of one little Shadowhunter?_

               He reached his flat in record time and once inside the elevator, let his head fall against the cold steel of the doors. His grip on the papers finally slackened. His hands began to shake again.

               _I’ll get back to you about London._

_No is an okay answer._

               Why did that sting so much? Alec closed his eyes.

               _I think it’s a nice blue. I like the color blue. It’s the color of the sky on a warm morning._

Why did _that_ make his heart shiver in a way it never had before?

               A tiny voice began to whisper in the back of Alec’s head. It was inaudible, so he ignored it. He stepped back as the door slid open on his floor. He went into his flat, carried The Chairman with him to the bathroom as he changed, brushed his teeth and his hair, and was in bed with his cat before the voice became audible.

               _Maybe because he cares for you, and you care for him._

The next afternoon, around four, Alec was standing at the door to his very monochromatic closet, arms crossed over his bare chest, staring unseeingly at his clothes. He had just finished up with his last client of the day and was preparing for the Circle meeting.

               With a sigh, Alec decided to surprise himself, closed his eyes, and snapped his fingers. When the warm fabric landed on his shoulders, he smiled to himself as he recognized his favorite sweater immediately. Opening his eyes, he paced to his full-body mirror. He had on his worn black sweater with the thumb holes worn into the sleeves and black jeans with boots. He shook his head and pulled the sweater off, swapping it for a button up black top with silver cuffs and buttons. He ran his hands through his hair and frowned at the tangles.

               His phone buzzed on the bed behind him. Picking it up, he glanced at the screen. A new text from Jace— _Be safe._

               Alec put it down and turned away, a frown pulling at his lips for another reason. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Without replying, he stuck the phone in his pocket, petted The Chairman goodbye, and headed out the door. As an afterthought, he returned briefly to grab his black hat with a pouf at the crown and tuck it down over his locks, and left for the meeting.

               He emerged into the crisp New York afternoon, pushing his hair back and looking up at the sky. The sun stained the clouds a shining gold color, and Alec was suddenly reminded of Magnus.

               He had managed to avoid thoughts of the Shadowhunter all day, but now, with nothing but a long walk ahead of him, he couldn’t find anything else to focus on. He wondered first why Magnus had told him his life story when they had only met yesterday, and had been little but polite. He wondered why he felt such a strange draw to his gold-green eyes. He wondered—

               The beep of the horn from a passing taxicab suddenly jerked him out of his reverie.

               He sighed, letting his hair fall over his eyes, and headed off down the sidewalk. The address was a good seven blocks or more away from his apartment, and he had two hours to get there.

               He ducked into a small diner and seated himself at the bar. Glancing at the waitress, he ordered a sandwich and asked her to surprise him with its contents, and a black coffee. His gaze turned up to the TV playing the mundane news over the bar. The newscaster was in the middle of a story about the recent string of murders—no doubt from the Circle, although the mundies didn’t have that excuse for it.

               _“Another jogger was found dead in Central Park today, and authorities are releasing no information on the autopsy. If you have any information that can lead to anyone involved in these terrible crimes, please call Crime Stoppers at—”_

“A shame, ain’t it,” the waitress sympathized, setting Alec’s coffee in front of him. He looked up, startled. Her eyes were fixed on the TV and she was shaking her head slowly. “All them murders.” She turned to him and went to say something, but she stopped as their eyes met.

               Alec suddenly realized he had forgotten a glamour. He opened his mouth, any number of excuses prepared—birth defect, contacts, even cosplay—but she smiled instead.

               “I beg ya pardon, High Warlock,” she murmured. She touched one ear and her glamour faltered for half a second, revealing the fae’s pointed ears. “Do ya know anything about these murders?” Her smile faded. “Those are—some of them—they’re my people. _Our_ people. They’re all Downworlders.”

               Alec shook his head mutely. He had given Jace his word that he wouldn’t spread anything around the Downworld and stir up unnecessary panic. Of course they knew of the Circle, but if Alec said anything it would get blown out of proportion and cause problems.

               She sighed and turned away, taking his plate from the cook behind her and turning back to set it in front of Alec. “Ya food, Warlock Bane.” She inclined her head and walked off. Alec looked down at the sandwich and suddenly didn’t have an appetite.

 

At seven o’clock, Alec stood, chin nestled into his coat, in front of a building glamoured to look abandoned. He could hear Shadowhunters moving around inside but refused to be the first one in.

               “Is that—It can’t be.” He heard several quick footsteps behind him and then an exuberant voice call, “Alexander Bane!”

               He turned and felt a smile play on his lips. He extended his arms wide. “Ragnor Fell, you son of a bitch.”

               The green-skinned horned warlock smiled back and pulled Alec into a hug. “It has been far too long.”

               “What, four hundred years?” Alec teased, throwing a mock punch at the other warlock’s chest. Ragnor feigned an injury and stepped backwards.

               “More like three days,” he joked back, waving a hand. Then his demeanor fell and he took a step forward. “Did you get a letter as well?”

               Alec opened his overcoat and pulled the envelope from his inside pocket. Ragnor nodded once and sighed through his nose.

               “This, and then the High Warlock Council meeting Sunday—we do not get a break,” he said with a long exhale, smiling. “How have you been since we parted ways, Alexander?”

               “I told you, call me Alec,” the warlock replied. “And I’ve been well, Ragnor. Got a cat.”

               “Ah, good! You’ve always wanted a cat!”

               Alec looked around. He saw a couple of werewolves wandering into the building, and a triangle of vampires sticking to the shadows to avoid the setting sun.

               “We should head in,” Ragnor said, voicing Alec’s thought. As he walked by, he flicked the pouf on Alec's hat. He elbowed Ragnor's ribs lightly, shaking his head. 

             They entered the building together and found a tall-ceilinged room with several plush chairs sorted around circular tables. Shadowhunters milled about, speaking quietly with Downworlders and other Shadowhunters. There were silver trays sitting on tables, with tall glasses full of wine and squat glasses of cocktails and margaritas sitting on them. Finger foods joined them.

               “Classy,” Ragnor murmured appreciatively. Alec didn’t speak, and instead headed for the nearest vacant table, removing his coat. Ragnor followed suit, hanging his coat over the back of his chair and sitting down heavily.

               A podium set up at the front of the room was empty, but not for very long. A white-blonde man stepped up, clearing his throat, commanding attention from all assembled. Alec’s throat dried immediately.

               There was no doubt this man was Valentine Morgenstern.

 

Looking back, in the days and weeks that followed, Alec came to the conclusion that he couldn’t explain exactly what had gone on at the meeting. Well, not until the very end. The very end would be burned into his skull forever.

               Alec might have had as many cocktails as he could ingest. Maybe seventeen was a few too many. To be fair, Ragnor did as well. He remembered Valentine preaching about unity and togetherness, and a world where Downworlders were equal.

               He remembered a vampire standing up and asking a question, and finding the answer unsatisfactory. He remembered the vampire snapping his fingers for the rest of his group, preparing to walk out.

               He remembered the smile Valentine gave as he raised one hand. And suddenly, everything was seared into Alec’s memory in stark, alarming clarity.

               “After hearing my plans, you want to leave?” he asked, feigning hurt. Alec’s heart stopped for a hot second as he suddenly realized Valentine’s plan. He slowly rose to his feet. “So you can run to the Clave and cry about how I tried to corrupt you?” Valentine continued. His smile fell. “You either join me or you do not leave here. There are only two options.”

               “Look out!” Alec shouted, but it was too late. Valentine had snapped one finger, and suddenly, everything exploded. Shadowhunters leapt from the stage brandishing angel weapons. A door behind Valentine shattered, and demons and Forsaken poured forward.

               Alec and Ragnor were shoulder-to-shoulder, and Alec was conjuring magic spears faster than he could register. He threw one and it landed in the open mouth of a Ravener demon. It disappeared into a puddle of ichor. A Raum leaped over it, jaws wide, screeching. Ragnor flung up a shield, giving Alec an opening to thrust out a hand and make it explode.

               “Behind you!” a werewolf howled. Alec wouldn’t ever know if the werewolf was talking to him, because he was killed the next second by a Shadowhunter, but he turned anyway and found himself face-to-face with another Shadowhunter. He immediately conjured up a sword and slashed out, cutting the Shadowhunter shallowly in his arm. He howled and dropped the seraph blade.

               “ _Periit!_ ” Alec shouted, and in a flash of blue, the Shadowhunter dropped to the floor, unconscious.

               “Why not kill him?” Ragnor grunted as he destroyed another Ravener.

               “I will not stoop to their level,” Alec growled. He cut his hand across his body and a huge arc of magic exploded from chest-height. It cut several demons in two and knocked more Shadowhunters back. Two vampires were dead on the floor, along with the werewolf from before, half-transformed. More bodies, twisted unidentifiably, were scattered around.

               Valentine was gone.

               But on the brighter side, so were most of the demons.

               “Cover me!” Alec shouted, dropping his shield without waiting for Ragnor to respond and beheading another Raum and the Hydra right behind it with a deadly throw of his sword. The sword melted, hissing and bubbling, in their ichor.

               A searing pain from Alec’s side, plus a heavy weight, threw him to the ground. Shouting in pain, he twisted and forced his magic outwards. The spider demon was thrown off, but the venom it had spat on Alec had already eaten through his clothes and was the source of the most excruciating pain Alec had ever felt. He writhed on the floor, vision going, as he screamed for Ragnor. He knew, in some dim part of his mind, he was too weak to try to heal himself, but the venom was making everything very unclear.

               He remembered hearing the sound of shattering glass, and several new voices and bright white flashes of light filled the room. He found out later they were reinforcements, coming in the form of the New York Institute.

               Magic began to creep over his skin, and the pain was slowly but surely fading. Alec was able to think clearly for a second and gasp in some air before Ragnor howled. Finding new strength, Alec rolled to his feet and searched for Ragnor.

               The warlock destroyed a Shax demon in a flash of sparks, but collapsed immediately. Alec lunged and caught him, sinking back to the floor. Without thinking, he began to heal the gaping wound in Ragnor’s throat.

               “Caught me off-guard,” he gasped, blood bubbling in his mouth, spilling over his lips, stark against his pale green skin.

               “Hush, don’t talk,” Alec whispered, hands shaking harder than they ever had. “I’ll fix you.” His blue magic spilled from his fingertips

               Ragnor’s hand caught Alec’s and he weakly shook his head, once.

               “No, Ragnor, let me heal you.” His throat was closing up and his vision was swimming. Not here, not now, not like this. “Let me help you, I’ll fix you.”

               Ragnor’s eyes met his, and Alec watched the light fade from them. His hand fell away and his best friend died in Alec’s arms.

               “No,” he gasped, panicking. “No, no, Ragnor, hold on, I’ll fix you.” Tears fell from his eyes and he choked on a sob. “Ragnor!” he wailed, bending and putting his head against his friend’s still chest. Sobs gripped his shoulders and his fists clenched in his overcoat. He pulled Ragnor’s body close, begging Lilith for something, anything, to bring his friend back.

               A hand touched his shoulder. Without turning, Alec yelled brokenly, “ _You won’t touch him!_ ” Magic exploded around him in a barrier, and there was a shout as the person was knocked backwards. But grief took over and the magic shattered as a fresh wave of tears appeared. He took a shuddering breath, full of Ragnor’s earthy cologne, and sobbed anew.

               “Alec.” The hand returned, firmer now, and Jace was there, sweet Jace, his eyes on Alec’s face, battlegear bloody and witchlight in one hand. Alec raised one head, gasping for air as the tears refused to stop.

               “I couldn’t save him—I was too slow—I could have done more—he wouldn’t let me,” he choked out, coughing out sobs and not caring if he died, not caring who was around, not caring what happened anymore because Ragnor was _dead_. Ragnor, who had taken him in at the age of twelve and taught him basic magic. Ragnor, who had stood by him through his High Warlock exam. Ragnor, who always traveled to the High Warlock Council meetings with him. Ragnor, his Ragnor.

               “Alec, come on, you’re hurt.”

               “I don’t _care_!” Alec shouted, pushing Jace away with one arm, but the force was weak and uncoordinated. Jace let the blow connect but didn’t move. “I want to take care of—of my friend,” he whimpered, holding Ragnor like a child would a doll, clutching his body like he could put some warmth, some life back into his limbs.

               Jace reached out and gently closed Ragnor’s eyes, and Izzy was there too, Izzy and Magnus both. Alec could feel them just behind him. He could hear other movement, but he didn’t care.

               Jace said something quietly, and Izzy left. Jace made a sign over his heart, some angelic sign, and closed his own eyes. Alec didn’t realize he had begun talking until his voice pierced through his grief, broken by sobs.

               “Ave atque vale, frater,” he was whispering, over and over, like a mantra. “Ave atque vale, ave atque vale…”

               “Atque in perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale,” Jace put in, his hand tightening on Alec’s shoulder. “Forever and ever, my brother.”

               “Hail and farewell,” Alec breathed, taking one final long breath of Ragnor’s cologne, so rich and earthy and old and exotic, just like Ragnor. He raised his head and tipped it toward the ceiling. “He knew me…better than anyone. He was always there for me, from day one.”

               “I know, Alec, I’m so sorry we didn’t get here in time. I’m so sorry,” Jace murmured. “But we need your help. There are so many injured, Izzy and Magnus and I can’t do it on our own.”

               “I’ll call Catarina,” Alec mumbled, rising to his feet, Ragnor’s body in his arms. Jace held out his arms. Alec hesitated.

               “Let me, Alec, please,” he said quietly. “You need to help Magnus and Isabelle. I’ll keep him safe. I promise.”

               Alec nodded tiredly and handed his friends’ body over, his hands lingering before he forced himself to turn away, wiping at his eyes. Magnus, now in front of him, turned his head away, pretending he didn’t see the tears.

               “Come on, we need your healing.” His voice was distant. Alec couldn’t bring himself to care about Magnus’ feelings and weakly pulled his phone from the pocket of his pants.

               “I have to call Catarina.” Numbly, he dialed her number and put the phone to his ear. The pain in his side returned suddenly and he swayed, stumbling. Magnus was there, supporting his weaker side, his strong arms around Alec’s body.

               “Whoa, there, High Warlock,” the Shadowhunter murmured. “I know the sight of me makes most people weak in the knees, but this is strange from you.”

               Bruised, beaten, and exhausted, Alec couldn’t bring himself to care. He leaned gratefully on Magnus, closing his eyes and letting his head fall on the Shadowhunter’s shoulder. His cologne was sandalwood, and covered up the blood and grief in the room.

               There was a click and Catarina’s voice stated crisply, “This had better be good, Alexander, because I just got off and was prepared to go to bed.”

               Alec stayed there, breathing in Magnus’ cologne, and couldn’t speak.

               “Alec?” Her voice grew worried. “Come on, don’t tell me you’re drunk again.”

               “Catarina.” He took a deep breath full of sandalwood. Magnus pulled him to a chair and made him sit down, sitting on the table next to him as he said something to Izzy. “Catarina, you need to come here. Redview Lane. We came to Valentine’s meeting.”

               “We? Alec, what happened? Who’s we? Are you okay?” He heard her yell for a taxi, and the blaring of a horn. “Stay with me, keep talking, you’re going to stay on the phone with me until I get there. Who’s we?”

               “Ragnor and I.” His world swam as his side throbbed again. The lights threatened to fade. “There’s—a lot of wounded. I’m poisoned. Ragnor is dead. Please, Catarina, hurry.”


	4. Grieving

Saturday afternoon, Alec sat in his living room, holding an untouched glass of wine in one hand. He was staring unseeingly out the window. The Chairman was curled up in his lap. Alec had cancelled all his clients for the past two days, not being able to find the energy to do anything post Ragnor’s death.

               After he and Catarina had finished healing those that weren’t dead from the fight—a total of Alec, one vampire, three faeries, and two werewolves—they had taken Ragnor’s body to the cemetery outside of Central Park. They had worked together to conjure up a headstone and carve words into it, just a simple statement— _Here Lies Ragnor Fell, Loved. Ave atque vale._

               “That’s a Shadowhunter saying,” Catarina had murmured as Alec carved with his weakened magic.

               “Hail and farewell,” Alec had mumbled again, clutching his side. “Forever and ever, my brother, hail and farewell.”

               After that, Catarina had escorted Alec back to his apartment, where he had finally allowed himself to pass out. He had woken back up early Friday morning, around four a.m., to find Catarina asleep on the foot of his bed, leaning against one of the posts that held up the canopy and her lips parted slightly. He had assumed she hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and woke her up for enough time for her to get to the couch. She slept until ten a.m. and left to get to another shift at the hospital.

               Catarina had taken all the venom out of his system, gotten him to bed, and even stayed awake to watch him while he slept. He was incredibly glad he had a friend like Catarina. He and Ragnor had both been very lucky.

               The buzzer at the ground floor of the apartment rang, pulling him from the reverie. Alec stayed on the couch for a good couple of minutes as the buzzing continued before there was a shout that drifted through his barely open window.

               “I know you’re home, Alec!”

               He sighed and rose unsteadily to his feet, putting his wineglass down and wandering toward the door. Without caring who it was, he buzzed them up and headed for the kitchen. He opened the fridge and stared blankly inside. He couldn’t even find it inside himself to eat.

               There was a knock, a pause, a heavy sigh, and then the door swung open. Alec looked up and his tired gaze found Magnus, wearing a bright blue top and white jeans, each finger adorned with rings, a bag slung onto one shoulder, arms crossed and one penciled eyebrow cocked. He dropped the bag on the island.

               “Jace has been trying to contact you for two days,” he said, makeup flawless once again. For some reason, that pissed Alec off. But the warlock didn’t reply. He just didn’t have the energy to engage the Shadowhunter in banter.

               “Have you eaten?” Magnus continued. Alec shook his head mutely, pushing the refrigerator door shut. Magnus sighed and walked into the kitchen, pulling open cupboard doors and examining their contents. Alec watched him with a detached interest.

               “What are you doing?” Alec rasped, the first words he’d spoken since he had bid Catarina goodbye.

               “Making you dinner so you have the strength to make a Portal to London for the Council meeting tomorrow,” Magnus replied, filling a glass with tap water and pushing it down the bar. It slid to a stop in front of Alec. “Drink something besides wine.”

               “I don’t want to.” Alec was aware he was acting like a child, but frankly, he didn’t care.

               “I don’t give a damn.” Magnus’ response was quick and brisk.

               “Ragnor was okay with me drinking wine.” The words fell from Alec’s lips before he could register them, and he felt like he had just driven a nail into his foot. He sat down, suddenly weak, on his barstool.

               Magnus, his back to Alec, stopped moving and took a deep breath. “Alec, I’m very sorry about Ragnor. I really am.” He paused. “But think about it. Would Ragnor want you wasting away because you were sad?”

               Alec turned his head away, but he knew Magnus was right. He could hear Ragnor’s condescending but kind voice, the day after Alec had wasted all his magic, frustrated and trying to push himself as far as he could. He had been seventeen.

               _“You can push your body all you want, but your mind will finally give out. It’s like mourning. You can laze around and be sad all you want, but you have to pick yourself up one day and decide, ‘I’m better than this. I can do better than this. I will get up and feed my cat and face the day’ because guess what, Alec? Life goes on. The world doesn’t stop because you’re sad, or frustrated, and the world will not wait for you.”_

He picked up the water glass and drank it all in one long go. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until he got water into his system. He slid the glass back and Magnus looked first at it, and then back at Alec.

               “More,” he muttered through his pride. Magnus smiled and refilled it, sliding it back. Alec drank half of this one and set it down, his hand wrapped around the cold glass.

               “Feeling better?” Magnus asked, cracking a couple eggs into a pan on the stove. Alec didn’t reply, drumming his fingers on the counter.

               “What does Jace want?” Alec finally asked.

               “To see how you’re doing.” Magnus grabbed some vegetables from the fridge and began dicing them with one hand while stirring the eggs with the other. “He’s worried. I said I’d come check on you.”

               The warlock frowned and arched his chin. “I don’t need to be checked on.”

               “You can’t miss this Council meeting,” Magnus replied, not missing a beat, “and Jace said you would have stayed in bed for the rest of your life.”

               “I don’t think Jace dictates what I do with my life.”

               There was a crash. Magnus had knocked the bowl off of the counter and it hit the floor, scattering tomatoes and onions as the porcelain shattered. Magnus swore and crouched down, scooping them up quickly. Alec stepped down, ready to help, but Magnus shook his head and muttered something under his breath.

               “Don’t bother,” he said, louder. “I’m such a damn klutz.”

               Alec held out a hand and the bowl repaired itself in Magnus’ hands. The Shadowhunter hesitated, his gaze fixed on the mess. Alec snapped that up too, and the vegetables returned to the bowl. Still Magnus didn’t move.

               “Hey, it’s just a bowl,” Alec commented, leaning against the counter as his side twinged. He figured Catarina had been too tired and had forgotten to heal the flesh wounds after removing the venom, but he hadn’t brought it to her attention. He wanted to heal without magic.

               Magnus stood, turning his face away and just dumping the vegetables in with the eggs in the pan. They sizzled and the smell of cooking filled the kitchen suddenly. Alec’s stomach clenched and growled, the hungry beast reawakened. Alec drank the rest of the water and headed to the sink, setting the glass in.

               “Don’t bother, I’ll get it.” His voice was crisp and taut. Alec looked at Magnus out of the corner of his eye. The Shadowhunter hadn’t turned from the stove, holding a spatula loosely in one hand. Alec hesitated for a moment before reaching out and resting a hand on Magnus’ shoulder. He jerked in surprise.

               “Thanks,” Alec said quietly, although that hadn’t been what he had planned to say. He wasn’t sure _what_ he had planned to say. Magnus gave a single stiff nod, and Alec sat slowly back down on his barstool, keeping his eyes on the boy cooking at his stove.

               Alec had spent the sleepless night before thinking about Ragnor, and in the lulls where Ragnor’s face had faded, Magnus’ face had replaced it. He couldn’t stop thinking about the dejected way Magnus had reacted when Alec had pushed him away that night on the sidewalk, or the detached air he had around him when they had appeared at the Circle recruitment meeting. They had barely spoken that night, and Alec had left without even bidding Magnus farewell.

               He thought about London. He knew how much Magnus wanted to return, but part of him didn’t want Magnus with him. However, a louder, larger part of him was insisting they went together. Alec reasonably knew if he went alone, he would mope around thinking about Ragnor and not have the energy to go to the Council meeting. Hell, he might not even have the will to _get_ to London in the first place.

               The Chairman jumped up on the counter and sauntered over to Alec, pushing his head in the space between Alec’s upper arm and his ribs. Alec rubbed him under the chin and felt the purrs vibrate his throat.

               Alec cleared his throat and stated, “You want to go?”

               Magnus stopped and, staring intently at the eggs, said, “Well, you could have told me before if I wasn’t welcome. I’ll even take the food with me.”

               “No, that’s not…not right _now_ ,” Alec amended hastily. “Not—go like—go _home_. Go to—with me.”

               Magnus poured the eggs onto a plate. “Take me to dinner first, by the Angel.”

               “ _No_ ,” Alec insisted, knocking a hand onto the counter in irritation. “To—London. With me. To London. Tomorrow. Tonight.”

               Magnus hesitated where he had put a fork with the eggs. Still avoiding eye-contact, he set the plate in front of Alec. The Chairman sniffed them curiously before padding around the plate toward Magnus.

               “To London,” he repeated, voice flat and hollow. Alec sighed and rubbed his face in his hands. This wasn’t going like he had hoped.

               “Yes, to London.” He turned his blue eyes on Magnus. Without even thinking, he said, “Look at me, Magnus. Please.”

               The softness in his voice compelled Magnus to look up, and they made the first eye contact they had since that night on the sidewalk. Gold on blue, and silence fell. The Chairman reached out a paw and batted at Magnus’ shirtsleeve, meowing for attention. The Shadowhunter, without looking away from Alec, reached out and gently touched the kitten’s head.

               “You want me to go to London with you.” That same detached voice.

               “ _Yes_.” Alec didn’t know how else to put it without being rude. His fist clenched around the fork.

               “Why?”

               The question was so quiet Alec didn’t know if he actually heard it. He swallowed and took a bite of the makeshift omelet to busy himself. The flavor exploded on his tongue and he took a second to appreciate the Shadowhunter’s cooking skill. He took another bite and chewed this one slower, crunching into a particularly large onion.

               “Because,” he finally said, “I want you there.”

               He didn’t know that was the reason until he spoke it. Magnus looked away and his hand on The Chairman’s head stilled. The kitten nibbled on his finger, rolling onto his back.

               “I don’t want you to say yes because you feel bad for me, or feel like you have to.” He held up a hand. “Let me finish. I want you to bring me to London because you really do want me there. I don’t want you to just say you want me there to cover up the fact that you feel bad.”

               “I do want you there,” Alec cut in, setting down his fork. “I’m afraid to go alone, yes, because I’m afraid my grief will overtake me. I’m afraid to face the High Warlock Council alone. I’m afraid to be in a small hotel room in London, when the last time I was in London I was with Ragnor and Catarina, and now I’ll be without either. So yes, I am afraid. But I’m asking you because I want you there, because there isn’t anyone else I’d rather ask to travel with me.”

               He stopped and took a slow, deep breath, having spoken quickly and in one long exhale. Magnus pulled at one shirt-sleeve and crossed his arms. Alec turned away and took another bite.

               “The Chairman likes you,” he muttered. “That’s a plus.”

               “I’m—sorry?”

               “I don’t like anyone my cat doesn’t,” Alec clarified, scraping the last bit of the omelet off of his plate and eating it, chewing slowly. “The Chairman likes you.”

               He smiled faintly. “More than I can say for the Institute’s cat.”

               “Church,” Alec recalled with a laugh. “That bastard used to shred my curtains because I was the only one who wouldn’t kick him.”

               Magnus nodded, cupping one hand around the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’ll go. But when we go, I have a request.”

               Alec looked up and it took a slow second before Magnus’ words registered. “You’ll—you will?”

               “I will, on one condition.” Magnus looked back up at Alec. “We have to stop at the Institute. I want to see the Branwells again.”

 

An hour later, Alec was dressed and Magnus was showering. They had decided to make the Portal tonight since Alec’s meeting started at noon. Alec magicked a couple of his clothes into a duffel bag and The Chairman out when the kitten tried to hide in said bag. He was wearing a black sweater with a heavy gray scarf and a black windbreaker over dark jeans and combat boots. His window was open, letting the crisp late-winter city air fly in.

               He heard the shower in his adjoining bathroom shut off, and the click as the glass door swung open. The Chairman lost interest in the frayed ends of Alec’s scarf and wandered into the bathroom, pushing open the barely-closed door with a nudge of his pink nose. Alec called him once and then gave up, beginning to pack his magic bag. _Potions, chalk, vials, herbs—what else might I need?_

               His side twinged again and Alec flinched, leaning against one of the posters on his bed as his hand cupped his abdomen. He knew he shouldn’t have stretched when he had been changing, but he told himself that he deserved to heal slowly for not being able to save Ragnor. It was the same thing he’d been telling himself for two days.

               “Alexander?”

               Alec jumped and turned quickly, taking in a sharp breath and doubling slightly when it throbbed again.

               “Are you okay?” Magnus had a white towel tied around his waist and his long dark hair was still wet. His makeup was all washed off and Alec had to put a hand over his lower face to hide the astonishment he was feeling. His olive skin was flawless, smooth as porcelain. His eyes were wider than Alec would have thought, and his plush lips were parted slightly. He had the Marks of Shadowhunters side by side with several scars, and one side of his torso was slightly discolored, probably from an old wound. His arms and pecs swelled with muscle, and he had the faint outline of a six or eight-pack on his tan abdomen.

               “Fine.” _My voice didn’t squeak._

               Magnus’ brow furrowed. “You look like you’re in pain. Are you hurt from the fight?”

               “No!” He forced his voice to resume its normal pitch and took a deep breath. “No. I’m fine.”

               Magnus sighed and crossed his arms. Alec made a choked noise in his throat as his shoulders swelled.

               “You’re lying.” His voice poised no argument. Alec took a deep breath and was suddenly hit with a heavy thought from Magnus’ head— _what is he hiding?_

               With one thought, the rest came in a flood. _What do I do?_ Iratzes _won’t work—maybe magic—potions? Is he good to travel? Why is he lying to me? What—why—how—_

Alec had to take a fast step back and force his magic to pull out of Magnus’ head. Another hard throb and Alec’s head swam as he doubled over fully this time, clutching his stomach, gasping.

               “Alexander!” Magnus took a few quick steps forward, but Alec shook his head and made the Shadowhunter stop. “Alexander, what _is it?_ ”

               “I’m fine,” he insisted, struggling to straighten up. He felt a warmth spread under one hand and he winced, dropping heavily onto his bed. “In—In the bathroom—there’s a roll of bandages under the sink,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

               Magnus turned and pushed back into the bathroom, stumbling over The Chairman. A cabinet banged open and a couple cans hit the floor, and then Magnus was back with a roll of heavy gauze and Ace bandages. Alec reached out a hand for them but Magnus pushed his hand away.

               “Wh—” Alec tried, but Magnus was already pulling off his scarf and grabbing at the neckline of Alec’s shirt. The warlock flushed with heat and tried to pull away, raising his hands to push Magnus off. The Shadowhunter, much faster than Alec, pushed one shoulder back and suddenly the sweater was off and both men were shirtless.

               “Hey!” Alec exclaimed, clutching at his stomach and curling up on himself. The throbbing returned and took his breath away. He was caught between embarrassment and pain, and his head spun again.

               “Let me bandage it, you _penyelidik_ ,” he swore in Indonesian, his voice rough and low. He tore off a strip of bandages, pushed Alec’s hands away, and sucked in a sharp breath.

               The burn wounds—Alec wasn’t even sure if it was all burns, or a mixture of that and cuts; he wasn’t sure what all the spider demon had managed to do—spread from his upper arm and the mirroring part of his abdomen, down his side to his hip and around the front of his flat, navelless stomach. It had reopened that morning and apparently just now just below his ribs, where the muscles pulled when he turned. He went to reach for it again, but Magnus grabbed both his hands and slammed them onto the bed.

               “Don’t _touch_ it,” Magnus growled. “Let me bandage it. As much as I like seeing you half-naked, I’m going to fix you up before I ravish you.”

               Alec paused, blushing hard, and Magnus took advantage of his stillness to throw a loop of the bandage around his midsection and pull it tight, slipping a telfa pad between the wound and the gauze-like material. Alec hissed in pain, tipping his head back and gritting his teeth.

               “If you didn’t react so strongly to being teased,” Magnus muttered half-heartedly, “getting the better of you would be harder.” He paused. “So would I, to be fair.”

               _“What?”_ Alec couldn’t believe he had just heard that.

               Magnus raised his eyebrows, feigning innocence. His callused hands moved across the warlock’s body, wrapping the bandages until the roll was empty. Then he took the Ace and covered it with that, standing back to admire his work. “How does that feel?”

               “Better,” he muttered grudgingly. Magnus raised his eyebrows and turned away. He untied his towel and readjusted it. Alec’s stomach clenched as the fabric loosened, and was struck with a strange feeling—somewhere between relief and regret and desire—as it retightened.

               “Why don’t you just heal yourself?” Magnus asked. Alec pulled his sweater back on and rose unsteadily to his feet.

               “I don’t want to,” Alec replied. “Don’t ask me why.”

               Magnus didn’t reply and just headed back to the bathroom, leaving the door open this time. Alec was able to watch him out of the corner of his eye, watch the way he easily ran his fingers through his messy hair, pulling it up onto the top of his head, watch the easy way he dried his shoulders and his back and the way his muscles flexed—

               “If you’re going to stare, I won’t be embarrassed if you do it openly,” the Shadowhunter called, grinning. Alec jerked his head away and rose quickly to his feet.

               “I’m going to go start the Portal,” he stammered, covering his blush with one hand and rushing from the room.

 

Magnus smiled at himself in the mirror as Alec’s hasty footsteps retreated. He had planned on having to stay with Alec this night to keep him on the living side of…well, _life_ , so he had already had a bag packed with his brushes, gel, glitter, makeup, and pajamas. He easily combed his hair into his quiff and brushed glitter through it, the same routine he had done every day for the past ten or so years.

               He finished his makeup in record time, still thinking faintly of Alec’s tanned body, his flawless skin, unmarked by scars or memories. Magnus’s gaze fell to his own skin, crisscrossed by Marks, scars, scars from demons, from play-fighting, from falls, from whatever the hell else he had forgotten, had faded into his memory. His smile fell.

               He looked to the discoloration on his right side, from a wound just like Alec’s, from a fire-spitting demon six years ago that had thrown him into the Infirmary for a month straight. He hadn’t been able to heal by _iratze_ and had been forced to heal the mundie way, and long after the pain and the wounds had faded, he had been left stiff and scarred, and had taken another two weeks to get back up to par. He wondered faintly why Alexander would willingly heal like such.

               He shook his head and dropped the towel entirely, tossing it over the door to the shower. He was dressed quickly and looking at himself in the mirror, feeling like something was missing. The same outfit he had worn before—his blue top and white skinny jeans—suddenly felt under-dressed. He frowned, rubbing his chin and glanced toward the master bedroom.

               Glancing once into the hallway and hearing Alec humming to himself in the living room, he strode toward the walk-in closet and flung open the doors, beginning his search for the perfect accessory.

               Several scarves were abandoned on the bed or tossed over the door. Hats were cast aside into two piles—No and Absolutely Not. He kept a fedora settled loosely on his head as he picked up a bowler with some disgust.

               “Who owns these anymore?” he scoffed with a shake of his head, tossing it onto the bed. He continued to sort through the hats, scarves, and gloves (for a warlock, and a bit of a monochromatic one at that, he owned a lot of white and pastel things) until he found, tucked away in a box at the back of the closet, the perfect thing.

               It was a plain brown box with a silk bow tying it shut, and a label that read, _To Alec, From All of Us with Love_. He recognized Izzy’s loopy handwriting immediately. Magnus glanced over one shoulder and removed the fedora, setting it gingerly aside as he picked up the box. He unwound the ribbon and brushed his hand across the top of the box. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, which suggested that it hadn’t been touched in years. Magnus opened the top—and gasped softly.

               It was the most gorgeous snow white knit scarf Magnus had ever seen, fading into dark gray and finally into black with long, braided strands at either end. It was thick and seemed to be hand-knit, and had a matching set of warm black gloves to go with it. A knit black beanie completed the set. Magnus’ face flushed as he imagined it on Alexander. The white in the scarf would really bring out the blue of Alec’s eyes and accent his dark hair—why was it tucked away?

               “Magnus?” Alec’s voice was muffled and jerked Magnus from his thought train. There was a stifled sound and a shout of, _“Magnus!_ ”

               Flushing, Magnus snapped the box shut and tucked it under his arm, removing himself from the closet and hurrying back into the bedroom. Alec had both hands in his hair and was staring at his room, once so neat and organized and now messier than any disaster area he could have dreamed. His eyes were wide and his lips were parted. His face was caught somewhere between horror and alarm.

               “What—what happened?” he managed, turning back to the Shadowhunter with—alarm, Manus decided. Definitely alarm. “I was gone for ten minutes!”

               “I was looking for something to wear,” Magnus said, rolling his eyes. “You can just magic it clean, can’t you? Speaking of accessories”—he pulled the box from under his arm, opening the lid and showing the contents to the warlock—“this is _gorgeous,_ Alexander. Why don’t you wear this?”

               Alec’s eyes clouded and he opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His hands fell from his hair and he rubbed one upper arm. He shook his head helplessly and went to the bed, manually zipping his duffel bag, cramming his potions bag into it as an afterthought.

               “It’s from Izzy, isn’t it?” Magnus pressed, lifting out the scarf and letting his fingers sink into the incredibly soft fabric. “Why is it hidden?”

               Alec shook his head again. He swung the duffel onto his shoulder with more force than necessary and waved one hand. Hats and scarves began to zoom back into the closet. Hangers rearranged themselves. Magnus looked around at it all with a detached fascination.

               “Why not wear it?” the Shadowhunter continued, ducking as the terrible bowler threatened to decapitate him.

               “I don’t want to.”

               “Is it for the same reason you don’t want to heal?” Magnus asked without thinking. He knew immediately he had misspoken. Alec’s body went rigid. The magic froze, and several things still in midair hovered there.

               “I don’t want to heal because I don’t deserve to,” Alec said, very quietly. His hand touched his side. “I don’t want to heal because I couldn’t save Ragnor, and I don’t deserve to go on with my life without pain. It was a mistake at first—Catarina simply forgot to heal the flesh wound. I didn’t bring it to her attention, and she didn’t ask. The last thing Ragnor knew was pain, and that’s all I deserve to feel.”

               Magnus found this absurd. He was caught between laughing and comforting the warlock.

               But Alec pressed on. “I refuse to wear it because it isn’t from Izzy and Jace. She signed it ‘all of us, with love’. I know the rest of my family doesn’t love me. Wearing it would just be a mockery, a symbol that they’d won. It would be too painful. If she had admitted that it was from just her and Jace, then sure. But knowing that she didn’t care enough about me to tell me that the rest of my family wouldn’t get me a Christmas gift—knowing that she would lie to me to make me feel better—me or herself, I don’t care—that’s why I don’t wear it.”

               Magnus looked down at the scarf in his hands. “She loves you, though.”

               “Maybe it’s backwards logic,” Alec continued, obviously not hearing Magnus, “but I won’t live a lie anymore.”

               “It isn’t a _lie_ ,” Magnus insisted, almost before Alec had finished. His hands clenched around the plush fabric. “She does love you, and that’s why she lied to you—or whatever she did, I don’t know if she lied or not. But she and Jace both love you. They always tell Max stories about you, and whenever Maryse talks down about Downworlders, they’re the first ones to stand up with a rebuttal. Izzy loves you more than you can even imagine.”

               Alec turned. His cat eyes were burning a vivid, searing blue. “If she loved me, she wouldn’t lie to me.”

               “She lied _because_ she _loves you!_ ” Magnus was aware of his voice rising, but didn’t care enough to control it. “You don’t know the stories she tells of her big brother, of Alexander Gideon, the bravest warlock in the world, the strongest person she knows, the kindest and most caring person she’s ever met despite the lot life flung in his damned face!”

               “Bull,” Alec growled. The air in the room tightened.

               “You aren’t as alone as you like to think you are!” Magnus plowed on, half a second from flying off the handle completely. “You’re loved, Alexander, loved by Jace and Izzy and little Max, enraptured with the brother he’s never met!”

               Alec turned away. “I’m not going to wear it, Magnus, so you might as well lay off now.”

               “No.” Magnus squared his shoulders. He was not one to quietly accept defeat—maybe it was the Shadowhunter in him, or the brokenness inside from his own past that refused to let anyone live the way he had. Either way, he was going to make Alec see sense.

               He took a step forward, setting the box and scarf on the dresser by his hip. His hands were shaking and he dimly knew he was too angry for his own good. “Do you know what it feels like to be unloved, Alexander? No—No you _don’t!_ ” he shouted as Alec began to form a response. “You didn’t walk out to the barn one morning to feed the cattle and find your _mother_ hanging from the rafters, because she couldn’t bear to look at her son and see her past, or look at her husband in fear! You didn’t get the shit beat out of you every day just for the way you looked, you weren’t told you were the reason your mother was dead, you weren’t told that you should have _died_ innumerable times every day!

               “You had someone there for you!” he continued, throat constricting as he was plunged back into his memories. “You weren’t thrown into the world when you had to set fire to the only house you’d ever known to escape the abuse and the depression you’d fallen into! You weren’t thrown onto the mercy of Sukarno Ravenheart, a man who you’ve never met, in a place you’ve never been before, and become trained as a cold, heartless fighter, thrown from Institute to Institute like a stray dog because you’re a half-breed, because they didn’t _want you there!_ ”

               The last three words were shouted in such a loud, shaking tone that they echoed through the bedroom long after Magnus had stopped. His shoulders were tight and he was breathing hard, tears threatening to run. His nails were digging into his palms hard enough that his fingertips were numb and his hands were throbbing. Alec’s blue eyes were fixed on Magnus’ face and he didn’t seem to be breathing.

               “So you know what, Alexander?” Magnus said, much quieter but just as tense. “You should be grateful that you have siblings that care enough about to you buy you gifts and make you feel loved. You should be grateful that even though you’re not a Shadowhunter, you’ve found a place you fit in. You”—his resolve finally cracked and the tears spilled down his cheeks; his voice faltered and warbled—“you should be glad you’ve got a family, Alexander, one who loves you as unconditionally as Izzy and Jace do, because not everyone has that.”

               And with that, Magnus pushed past Alec and disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. The things that Alec had left suspended in midair fell to the ground in sync with the click of the latch. Alec sat down, legs weak and side aching again.

               After a moment, he waved a hand and the closet resumed reorganizing itself until it was flawless once again. He let his weight fall backwards onto the bed, his arms splayed out to his sides as Magnus’ words ran in circles in his head.

               _“Thrown from Institute to Institute like a stray dog, because you’re a half-breed, because they didn’t want you there!”_

Magnus had told him days ago he had willingly left Indonesia. Was he lying? Trying to spare himself the pity? That was probably his motive—and good, too, because now Alec’s heart was aching. Guilt pooled in his stomach. His reasoning for not wearing the scarf set seemed trivial at best.

               He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, staring up at the roof of his four-poster, but he eventually pushed himself up and wandered to the bathroom door, leaning his forehead on it. It had remained silent and stubbornly closed the whole time.

               “Magnus, I’m sorry,” he began, not even sure if the Shadowhunter would be listening. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have been so—so self-centered. But Izzy and Jace love you too. I could hear it in Jace’s voice when he and I spoke on the phone, and I could see it in Izzy’s eyes. And I’m sure Max does too.”

               Nothing. Alec took a deep breath and finished with, “I’ve almost got the Portal finished. I’m leaving in ten minutes—whether or not you still want to come is up to you.”

               He went to leave the room, and his gaze fell on the brown box. He stared for a moment.

 

Magnus heard the footsteps retreating into the living room and passed a weak hand over his face. He knew he had been too angry. This always happened when he got angry. He hadn’t wanted to tell Alexander any of that. He considered not even going to London anymore. But then again…

               _“Magnus—you’ll be back, won’t you, darling?”_

_“As soon as I can. You all have been so nice to me. I couldn’t ask for more.”_

_“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?”_

_“I won’t be on my own, Mrs. Branwell. I’ll have the Lightwoods, remember?”_

_“Magnus Demitrius, I’ve told you so many times to call me Sara.”_

_“That’s not my style, Mrs. Branwell, as I’ve told you. I must go—the Portal won’t stay open all day.”_

_“Come back soon, darling, I mean it!”_

Magnus bit his knuckle nervously, still sitting with his knees drawn to his chest. He glanced down at his watch. Then he sighed and stood up, looking in the mirror. With a couple quick movements, he had fixed up his makeup and exited the bathroom, pulling his bag back onto his shoulders. He glanced at the door. He hadn’t locked it, but Alexander hadn’t even tried to open it or follow him. This brought a small smile to his face. Then, shaking his head, he picked up a white scarf that had managed to evade the closet and wound it around his neck. He found a white hat with a little pouf on the top just inside the closet and tucked his hair into it. Nodding to himself in the bedroom mirror once, he headed into the living room.

               The Chairman, who had managed to go unnoticed until then, followed Magnus, chirping for food. The Shadowhunter shooed him away with a gentle nudge of his foot and the kitten ran for Alec.

               The warlock looked down and asked him something so quietly that Magnus couldn’t hear. There was a tall, shimmering blue mass in the center of the living room, where the coffee table had been. Magnus cleared his throat and Alexander looked up, and the light that had died from his blue eyes rekindled with a fury. A smile pulled at his lips. He looked off, but Magnus couldn’t place it. Something was different.

               “You’re coming, then?” he said. “You’ll want a coat. It’s going to be deeper into winter in London than we are.”

               “I didn’t bring one,” Magnus replied, gesturing down at his cobalt blue windbreaker, the same design as Alec’s but a different color. He could see his coat in his mind’s eye, tossed carelessly onto the chair by his bed. “This is all I brought.”

               Alec narrowed his eyes and twisted one wrist. With a sharp snap, Magnus felt a heavy coat land on his shoulders and he looked down, startled. The first thing he noticed was the brand—Prince Fox, one of his favorite styles. It was a long coat with buttons and a fur-lined hood and body. It was a deep blue color with the fur lighter blue. He looked back up, surprised.

               “How did you know what my coat—?” he began, but Alec laughed.

               “Your mind is an open book,” he replied cryptically. He turned and extended his hands, one above his head and one down to his hip, and rotated them in a large circle. The Portal solidified, swirling and spinning.

               “Just so you know,” Magnus felt the need to say, cocking a hip and resting a fist on it, “I’m only going because Jace told me to keep you on the living side of life.”

               Alec nodded. “Indubitably.”

               “And to see the Branwells.”

               “No other reason.”

               “So we’re in agreement.”

               “Certainly.”

               Alec picked up The Chairman and kissed his nose. “You be a good kitty when Catarina comes to feed you, hear me?”

               _Mrrow._

               He set the kitten back down and shooed him away. The Chairman eyed the Portal with some hesitancy and wandered away, probably to his food bowl. Alec took a deep breath and faced the Portal. He held out a hand, and Magnus stared at it, penciled eyebrows stretching up to his hairline.

               “I’m not holding your hand, as much as you would enjoy that.”

               Alec rolled his eyes. “Then take my forearm or something. You don’t know where we’re going to. It’s just so you don’t get lost in the fabric of space-time. Don’t read into it, Lightwood.”

               Magnus hesitated for a moment before nodding sharply. He reached out and gripped Alec’s forearm just above his wrist. Alec grabbed Magnus’ in return and felt a sharp pull in his chest, and was startled. That wasn’t magic, was it? No, magic usually felt like something in your gut chewing at your intestines from the inside out.

               Well, not _usually_ , but particularly strong magic had different side effects. Shaking his head to brush those thoughts away, he turned to the Portal and pictured the hotel they would be staying at. Closing his eyes, Alec held his breath and tightened his grip on Magnus’ sleeve. The last time he had done this trip was with Ragnor.

               _No! Don’t think about him. If you do, you’ll end up in the cemetery._

               Alec physically shook his head again, growling under his breath.

               “What is it?” Magnus asked, his hand clenching. Alec didn’t reply, shouted, _“The hotel!_ ” for his benefit more than anything, and thrust himself into the Portal.

               Half a second before he hit the Portal, Magnus suddenly realized why Alec had looked off. He was wearing the scarf set.


	5. There's No Place Like London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a day late and a little shorter than the others! We'll finally get to the Council meeting next week! :D Thank you guys so so much for all your continued support, be it in the form of kudos, comments, or even you quiet ones who read it but don't react, you guys are super awesome! Kudos and comments make more chapters come faster!

“Hmm, this _is_ strange.”

               Alec turned in a circle, wrapping the scarf tighter around his neck and adjusting his bag. Magnus staggered as he hit the ground and fell ungracefully to his hands and knees. Thankfully, Alec kept his back turned, because that was the kind of thing a man did in private, falling over. He jumped easily onto a bench and stood on his toes, peering into to the distance.

               It was cold—Alec had been right. A cold wind hissed across the cobblestone and cut into Magnus’ skin. He shivered as he stood up, pulling his scarf up over his mouth and nose and tucking the hat over his ears.

               “What’s strange?” Magnus began, but was cut off by a deafening bang from behind him. With an undignified screech, he spun and stared upwards in shock. It was a noise he hadn’t heard in a long time. They were standing at the foot of Big Ben, the sun setting behind it.

               “Well, I did forget to factor in the time difference,” Alec said, in the pauses between the bell tolling eight, “and when I thought of the hotel, I thought of the view from our window. Said view, is Big Ben. So, I suppose we ended up at Big Ben instead.”

               “Where’s the hotel? Far?” Magnus inquired, brushing his jeans off and straightening his coat.

               “A couple blocks.” Alec dropped back onto the pavement. The wind grabbed his scarf and strung it out in front of him. Magnus coughed weakly, shoving his ringed hands into his pockets. Alec strode off down the sidewalk and Magnus trailed along behind. He looked off in the distance and saw the tallest spire on Westminster Abbey piercing the sky. His heart leapt as he recalled being able to see the palace from the Institute. They couldn’t be that far!

               They walked a couple blocks before Alec paused under an overhang, and Magnus drew up beside him. Alec’s face was set and he stared mistily off into the distance.

               “Last time we were here,” he murmured, so quietly Magnus had to strain to hear, “Ragnor almost got pickpocketed, and he grabbed the kid and threatened to throw him into the path of the next oncoming train.”

               “Slightly excessive, I think,” Magnus commented, rolling forward onto the balls of his feet, hands tucked safely into his pockets, one around his phone, the other around his wallet. “I would have merely castrated the bastard, and permitted him waddle away with his life.”

               This earned a startled laugh.

               A bus pulled up and cut off their conversation there. Alec allowed Magnus board first and grabbed a map from next to the driver as they passed. Magnus found two empty seats facing each other in the back, and they settled in as the bus lurched into motion.

               London was a lot different than Magnus had remembered. The buildings were taller than he had remembered—but maybe he had just gotten used to New York. The cobblestone was uneven under the tires, resulting in a bumpy ride. People hurried by on the sidewalks, heads bowed against the cold. Magnus caught the eye of a werewolf, sitting facing their way, who growled throatily at him, sneering. He ducked his head. He had forgotten how cold the Downworld of London was toward Shadowhunters. Alec was buried in his map and didn’t catch it. He looked out the window after a moment.

               As they rumbled down Euston Square, Alec raised a gloved hand and pointed to a massive building standing at the corner with Melton Street. “That’s where the conference is tomorrow,” he said. “30 Euston Square.”

               “At that massive venue?” Magnus asked, cocking an eyebrow and peering up at the towering building. “It looks expensive.”

               “Maddox Pride spares no expense when it comes to his Council,” Alec replied with a smirk. He pulled his phone out and frowned at the screen, typing quickly. “Jace seems to doubt my ability to make it to London in one piece.”

               “Maddox Pride?” Magnus reached into his bag and pulled out a heavy leather-bound book— _Magic Through the Ages: The Shadowhunter’s Guide to Warlocks and Their Achievements_. Alec stared at it.

               “Shadowhunters really do have a book for everything, don’t you?” he commented dryly, scooping it out of Magnus’ hands and leafing through it. “Am I in here?”

               “I doubt it, since it was written a hundred years ago,” Magnus replied, snatching it back and flipping to a heavily bookmarked page. He took a second to skim the page before he began reading out loud. “Maddox Pride is the former High Warlock of Santa Fe, who stepped down from his position and willingly passed it on to another up and coming warlock, who is here unnamed. He mastered several incredibly ancient and advanced forms of magic before he was a century old, feats hardly achieved by Lilith herself (see footnote).”

               “Did you really just _read_ ‘see footnote’?”

               “Do you want to hear this or do you want to judge the things I read?”

               Alec held up both hands in surrender. “Please, be my guest.”

               “Just like Shadowhunters,” the werewolf from before said loudly to his partner. Several other masquerading Downworlders looked up. Alec’s shoulders tightened but he didn’t turn around. “They have to know everything about everything.”

               Magnus lowered his eyes, slowly shutting the book.

               “Funny,” Alec spoke up, in quite the level tone. “It’s almost like Shadowhunters have to know everything about the Downworld in order to keep the peace. Otherwise, it would be the blind leading the _backwards_.”

               The werewolf stood angrily, but his partner grabbed his shirt sleeve and jerked him back down, shaking her head.

               “What’d you say?” another voice growled. A third werewolf did rise to his feet, walking toward the back of the bus where Alec and Magnus sat across from each other. “About the _backwards_?”

               Alec rose fluidly and was eye-level with the werewolf. Magnus’ hand went slowly to his hip where a seraph blade was concealed, his eyes watching the exchange with a detached interest. “Might I define it for you? It means to regress. To be stuck in the past, to look upon or live in times long gone. To move behind or away, if you will. Therefore, I called _you_ , you racist pack of Downworlders, _backwards_ , because I thought we left these kind of ideals behind in the Dark Ages.”

               There was a very tense pause. Magnus could almost hear the air crackling.

               “You could associate with such better company than Upworlders, warlock,” a faerie in a wide-brimmed hat sang softly. She turned a long-stemmed daisy slowly in her long fingers.

               “I don’t think it’s any of your business,” Alec stated, voice dropping into a cold timbre, never looking away from the Downworlder at his front, “what kind of company the High Warlock of Brooklyn decides to keep.”

               The werewolf took a step back. “T-The High Warlock of Brooklyn?” he echoed, swallowing. “I-I beg your pardon, Mister Bane.”

               Alec raised a hand. Sparks crackled in his palm. “Sit, boy.”

               The werewolf looked torn between obeying and continuing the fight.

               “I. Said. _Sit_.” Alec’s cat eyes flashed dangerously. The lights in the bus flickered. The rest of the Downworlders shied away and the werewolf, with one final growl at Magnus, turned and headed back to his seat.

               Alec reached up and grabbed the cord above Magnus’ head, jerking it down. A bell rang up front, and the bus began to slow to a stop. He snatched Magnus’ hand, causing the Shadowhunter to go several shades of red, and all but dragged him off the bus.

               Once they stepped back out into the icy London air, Alec let out a hard breath, shoulders falling. “I hate pulling rank—in fact, I’ll usually do anything to avoid it,” he muttered apologetically, “but I wasn’t going to stand by and let them talk like that.”

               “I thought I was going to have to get between you two for a second there,” Magnus replied with a weak, breathy laugh. Alec glanced around at where they were and began to walk, shoulders bowed.

               “Hey, thanks,” Magnus said, hurrying to catch up. “For—standing up for me. It was brave. So…thanks.”

               Alec shrugged. “Doing what anyone else would have done.”

               “Still. Thank you.”

               A silence fell for a few moments before the Shadowhunter, desperate for anything _but_ silence, said, “So how far are we?”

               “Just another couple blocks,” he sighed. “I would rather take the bus, but I know they’re all going to be full of Downworlders.”

               Magnus, realizing he wasn’t going to get anything else humorous or conversational out of Alec, frowned to himself and adjusted his bag on his shoulders, holding his book to his chest. He dropped behind a pace or two, lost in his own thoughts.

               They arrived at the hotel just after 9 o’clock, and Alec talked quickly with the person at the counter, his hair pulled down over his eyes to hide his warlock mark. The woman handed him two keys and smiled kindly at Magnus.

               “I like your tattoos,” she said. Magnus was confused for a moment before he suddenly realized that he hadn’t glamoured his Marks. Face flushing, he nodded quickly and turned away, one hand cupping his neck and hiding the Mark there.

               Alec headed straight for the elevator, examining his room key. “They put us in the master suites again,” he said with a sigh. “Ragnor and Catarina always insisted we get the damn master suites regardless of how much they cost.”

               Magnus pulled at his shirt-sleeves under his coat. He hated that he did that—whenever he was nervous, he would fiddle with his shirt cuffs, which always escalated into pulling them down and pushing them up. He wasn’t sure how many shirts he had stretched out from doing it. “Are they on the top floor?” he commented distantly. “I’m sure the view is gorgeous.”

               Alec sullenly punched the elevator button. A faint ding, and the doors slid open. “Sure,” Alec sighed, “if you like looking down on the city and its inhabitants.”

               Magnus frowned at his word choice and didn’t reply.

               They rode up to the 17th floor in relative silence. When they got to the door, suite 178B, Alec unlocked the door and swung it inwards, waving Magnus in. He took off his hat and bowed dramatically, stepping into the room—and his breath caught.

               Three massive king-size beds stood on one side of the room, two TVs on the opposite wall. Several tall lamps with colorful shades stood around the room. Each bed had a mahogany chest of drawers beside it. The huge windows were covered by thick red velvet shades. A table with four chairs sat in the little kitchen-esque room, which had only a fridge, a microwave, a toaster, a coffeemaker, and a couple cabinets. A door in the far wall probably led to the bathroom.

               “This is—amazing,” Magnus breathed.

               “Just a hotel,” Alec replied. He looked at the three beds and his gaze clouded. Magnus knew immediately what he was thinking.

               “Hey, if you don’t want them,” he joked, flinging his bag and book onto the table and moving to the far side of the middle bed, “I’ll take them.” With a bit of a struggle, he managed to push two of the beds together, and then flung himself onto the now gigantic single bed. He laughed as he landed in the middle of the goose-down comforter, his coat falling open. He stretched, enjoying the luxurious feel of the soft mattress and softer blankets around him.

               Alec smiled faintly, his eyes watching Magnus curiously. “You’re more like a cat than The Chairman,” he replied, heading for the bed by the window and setting his own bag down.

               “Speaking of your cat,” Magnus added, pulling off his coat and scarf and discarding them on the floor, “I think a better name for him would be The Chairman of _something_. Like—Like Chairman Meow.”

               “That sounds juvenile,” Alec said, and the Shadowhunter could almost feel him rolling those gorgeous blue cat eyes. “He’s classier than that.”

               Magnus sat up abruptly. “One: he is a kitten, and deserves a kitten-esque name. Two: _The Chairman_ sounds like something Church would be named, that grumpy old bastard. And _three_ …” He broke off. “I don’t have a three yet. Give me a few minutes.”

               Alec laughed outright here, and Magnus smiled. His goal achieved.

               It didn’t last long, though. Alec shed his own coat and sat down heavily, hands laced. “Tomorrow, at the Council meeting,” he said quietly. “Would you want to speak?”

               Magnus’ heart dropped into his stomach. “What?”

               “I need someone to talk about Valentine and the Circle who’s had access to all the files.” Alec pulled a stack of manila folders out of his bag, the files Jace had lent him days before. “Yeah, I’ve read everything here, but I’ve not had a lot of experience with Valentine. The Council will want to hear from someone respectable with good knowledge of the Upworld, the Circle, you know.” He looked up. “You.”

               “Is that why you brought me?” Magnus demanded instead. “You didn’t really want me here. You just wanted someone to back up your story on the Circle.”

               Alec’s eyes flashed. “If I had wanted that, I would have asked the blonde-boy wonder instead of you.”

               Magnus jerked his head away. He should have known better than to think that someone actually wanted him around.

               “Listen, Magnus, I want you to speak because Valentine affects the warlocks too,” he continued. “And it’s a Council of about a dozen of us, maybe less. I don’t even know if Maddox will _let_ you speak. I figured it was worth a _shot_ because, you know, maybe they’ll listen to a Shadowhunter who’s fought Valentine. Maybe then they’ll see it’s a real issue.”

               A pause, and Alec groaned, tossing the files onto the desk and scrubbing his hands through his hair. They scattered and one fell open onto the floor.

               “Damn it, Magnus, I invited you because I wanted you here,” he snapped. “I only thought about you speaking at the Council meeting about two minutes ago. You’ve got to understand that, first off.”

               “Sure.” His voice was so quiet, it was barely there.

               The warlock stood suddenly, pacing the room. He began moving his hands, moving things around the room. Magnus’ coat and scarf floated onto the coatrack by the door. The files stood up straight, stacked themselves, and floated gently to the coffee table. The curtains began absently changing color. Magnus sighed and rubbed one jaw.

               “I’m sorry, Alexander, it’s just hard for me to—think that someone would want me around without an ulterior motive,” he said quietly. He stood and pulled off his long-sleeve blue top, revealing a tight black tank-top underneath. There was a sudden clatter. Magnus jerked his head up, startled, and saw Alec staring at him with wide blue eyes. One of the lamps Alec had been moving across the room had fallen and the lightbulb had shattered.

               “What—?” they began at the same time, and Alec went scarlet and began to stammer quickly.

               “S-Sorry, just—caught me off guard—I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—it’s just—what are you doing?” he managed to get out, one tan hand coming up to cover his mouth.

               “Getting—undressed?” Magnus guessed, thoroughly concerned by the cat-eyed man’s response. “It’s getting really late.”

               “Yeah—yes! It is.” Alec cleared his throat and spun around. He nervously snapped a finger and the lamp righted itself. “It is, yes.”

               “Yes,” Magnus replied slowly, raising an eyebrow. Retrieving his pajamas from his bag, he warned Alec with a soft murmur that he was changing and dropped his white jeans. Alec was staring at the wall in front of him, heart throbbing, breath coming in quick little bursts. He was alarmed by his reaction and wasn’t exactly sure what had brought this on. He had never reacted like this to anyone or anything before.

               “You’re good,” Magnus finally said. Alec took a deep breath, shook himself, and turned. Magnus had swapped his jeans for a pair of bright gold fuzzy pants with dolphins on them, and was still wearing his dark tank top. The swell of his biceps, pecs, and shoulders stretched the material in all the right ways. The thick black Marks wound around his skin, melting like chocolate against the olive skin. He reached up above his head and stretched, yawning. The top rode up and exposed a line of skin at his angular hips, and the top of his V-line. Alec choked a little and turned it into a cough.

               “Aren’t you going to change?” Magnus asked of Alec. The warlock took a slow pause and then nodded, snapping his fingers quickly. His clothes vanished, replaced by his black silk pajamas, the same ones he had been wearing the first day he had met Magnus.

               “The meeting starts at noon,” Alec said, dimming the lights with a wave of one hand. “I’m going to be up early to get breakfast and get ready.” Magnus glanced around at the lighting, the glitter on his makeup catching and flinging sparkles.

               “Setting the mood?” he joked lightly. Alec forced a choked laugh and hurriedly got into bed. He wrapped the heavy comforter around his shoulders and laid there listening to Magnus move about the room for a bit. The sink turned on and off a couple times, he began humming under his breath, and finally flicked the light switch, plunging the room into darkness as he settled into his massive single bed.

               The room was quiet for a long enough time that Alec began to be sure that Magnus was asleep, until the Shadowhunter spoke.

               “You still up?”

               Alec bit his lip, considering his answer. “Yeah.”

               “I’ll speak tomorrow if you want me to. Will they let me?”

               Alec rolled over. In the darkness, he could faintly see Magnus’ outline, buried under both comforters and surrounded by pillows. “I’ll speak to Maddox. I don’t see why not, but you can never tell with him.”

               “Mm.”

               Another long pause.

               “Alexander?”

               “Yeah?”

               “Thank you.”

               Alec felt his brow furrow. Magnus rolled over and in the very faint moonlight slipping through the curtains, their eyes met. The gold irises shone with an ethereal, angelic light.

               “For what?” The words were barely audible. Alec’s heart was rapping double time as they stared at each other. Neither looked away, each boldly memorizing the details of the other’s face.

               “For—a lot of things. For bringing me here, for standing up for me on the trolley, for…” He coughed a little. “For not sneering at me when I told you I was a…half-breed.”

               Alec smiled behind his comforter. “So am I.”

               Magnus was uncertain whether he meant he was a half-breed, or whether he was thankful too, but he didn’t clarify, so the Shadowhunter didn’t ask. He was quiet for a minute, pulling the blankets tighter around his shoulders. “Goodnight, Alexander.”

               “Goodnight, Magnus.”

               The Shadowhunter rolled away and curled up on himself, and fell asleep smiling, unaware that Alexander did the same.


	6. The High Warlock Council

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is late too!! I had it done but then I didn't like how the ending of the chapter was, so I had to rewrite it, and it took some time. But this one is a little longer to make up for it!
> 
> A/N: Mengele was a Nazi doctor who took sets of twins and performed horrendous experiments on them for various reasons, one of the big ones being the idea that twins could share feelings of pain. Google Mengele for more.
> 
> Comment if you like or don't! 
> 
> Question of the Week: Who's your favorite warlock so far??

The next morning, Magnus was up at six a.m. He took a long two hours to get ready—showering, doing his makeup, stretching, even rolling through a couple easy battle maneuvers to limber up—and Alexander was still asleep. He poked his head out of the bathroom.

               “Alexander Bane, it is eight o’clock,” he called. The warlock groaned and rolled over, pulling a pillow over his head. “Wake your lazy warlock ass up.”

               “You can’t make me, Ragnor,” he groaned, obviously half-asleep.

               “I will hit you.”

               “Catarina won’t let you. Cat—save me from this indignation,” he mumbled, and one long arm ventured skyward from the mass of blankets. Magnus picked up a pillow and lobbed it at the neighboring bed. Alec weakly threw one back. It fell quite short of Magnus.

               The Shadowhunter picked up a phone book, stuffed it in a pillowcase, and threw it. It struck Alec’s head the second he removed the pillow from his face, and he let out a loud shout.

               “I’m up,” he shouted, pushing himself upright and rubbing his head. “Chrissakes, Magnus, I’m awake!”

               “If this isn’t early for you, then I’m not sure what is,” Magnus commented with a laugh. Alec looked blearily at the clock and sighed.

               “Lilith,” he muttered, rubbing his face in his hands. “I need a shower and a drink.”

               “You’re on your own shower-wise,” Magnus said, reaching into his bag and pulling a heavy silver flask out, “but I’ve got vodka.”

               Alec eyed him. “Why the hell do you have vodka?”

               “Why _wouldn’t_ I have vodka?” Magnus replied, rolling his eyes. “You want it or am I going to have to drink it?”

               Alec rolled out of bed, landing awkwardly on his feet, yawning as he stretched and reached for the flask. Magnus handed it over. Alec took a drink and immediately coughed. Magnus jumped back to avoid the fine spray.

               “This isn’t vodka!” he spluttered, shaking his head. Magnus bent the flask toward himself and sniffed the opening.

               “Oh, my bad. Rum.”

               “ _Rum?_ ” Alec echoed. “The alcohol content in rum is ridiculous!”

               “Fifty-eight in this,” Magnus confirmed with a nod. “Do you still want it?”

               Alec opened his mouth to reject but paused. He sighed and took another long drink, closing his eyes against it now, and then handed it back. “I can’t be too wasted for the meeting,” he groaned, heading for the bathroom and waving a hand. Blue sparks trailed through the air and the shower started itself. “Wish I could be,” he threw over his shoulder before the door shut.

               Deciding to wait before venturing out to find breakfast, Magnus dropped himself into a chair at the table and opened his book back up. The page on Maddox Pride fell open in his hands. The sketch of the warlock was faded and ancient, with softly chalked colors. Magnus ran his fingers over it slowly.

               He had long white hair pulled into a ponytail and piercing green eyes. His long-fingered hand was raised to his chest and conjured gray magic that flowed around him like water. His jaw was set, with hard angles, but the tiniest quirk of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. He _looked_ ancient. Magnus began reading the passage again.

               _Maddox Pride is the former High Warlock of Santa Fe, who stepped down from his position and willingly passed it on to another up and coming warlock, who is here unnamed. He mastered several incredibly ancient and advanced forms of magic before he was a century old, feats hardly achieved by Lilith herself (see footnote). He is a master of psychic magic, transmutation (see Alchemy, chapter two), summoning, and conjuring, to name a few. After his retirement in 1899, he vanished to the hills of Ireland, hidden from prying eyes and enemies alike, and rarely makes his presence known._

_In early 1902, he founded the High Council of United Kingdom Warlocks, made of himself, representing Ireland, an unknown warlock representing Wales, Ragnor Fell of London representing Great Britain (224), and Cailin Toss representing Scotland (308). This group was the first collective group of Downworlders to meet in the Silent City and discuss the third draft of the Accords. They assisted the merfolk and Shadowhunters in the carving of the mermaid fountain._

_In 1904, the Council was expanded to include France, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy. 1905, after a long argument between Pride and Fell concerning another expansion, Russia and China were included. America joined in 1910, the final country to pledge their allegiance at the creation of this book._

               And that was all. Magnus flipped the page and saw the beginning of a new chapter. Frowning, he turned back. For as accomplished as a warlock as Maddox claimed to be, there was very little information on him. Several _lesser_ warlocks had a couple pages, and most of this passage anyway was about the High Warlock Council.

               He frowned, but didn’t have a lot of time to focus on it because the bathroom door opened again. He turned in his chair and found Alec, soaking wet, poking his head out.

               “I thought you would have gone to breakfast already,” he said. “You didn’t have to wait.”

               “I didn’t want to wander London alone and then try to fight my way back to Euston Square by noon,” he replied with a shrug. Alec rolled his eyes, levitated his bag to him, and disappeared.

               By nine o’clock, both men were dressed and bundled up and wandering back out into the streets of London. They found a little place called Speedy’s Sandwich Bar and Café on N Gower Street and ducked in, having far too many pastries and cups of coffee, making small talk but mostly discussing Magnus’ warlock book.

               “Ah, Cailin,” Alec laughed when Magnus pointed out the aforementioned High Warlock of Edinburgh. “He’s such a little bitch.”

               “You know Cailin Toss?” he asked, raising his penciled eyebrows.

               “We’re old buddies. He tried to get me to become a pirate with him last year.”

               “Aren’t pirates a little—outdated?”

               “Not when you’re boiled as an owl, they’re not.” Alec paused to sip at his coffee. “You’ll meet Cailin today.”

               Magnus was over the moon at the thought of meeting so many of the esteemed warlocks he had learned about at the Academy in Idris, and he expressed as much.

               Alec frowned. “Don’t get your hopes up. They’re not as wonderful or otherwise as the Shadowhunters preach them to be. They’re people just like you.”

               Magnus looked back down at his book and didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure what else to say.

               “How many warlocks are there in the High Council?” he finally asked.

               Alec stirred his coffee with a spoon and thought. “Well, there’s representatives from America—more than just me—Sweden, Egypt, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Great Britain, France, Germany, Italy, Russia, China, India, Australia, and Japan. So however many that is.”

               “At least a dozen and a half,” Magnus murmured, biting his lower lip. He had spoken in front of more people, but never that many esteemed, all-powerful warlocks. These Downworlders were the top of the top. The hair on the back of his neck rose like wires and he shivered.

               They were out of the café by 10:30, and Alec suggested they head over to the venue early so he could speak to Maddox and Magnus could get his meet and greets out of the way. The Shadowhunter didn’t protest. A twenty-minute walk brought them to the conference building.

               Once inside the venue, they rode up to the fourth floor and were shown to a conference room by a young secretary girl. She smiled at Alec and said, “Mister Pride has just arrived.”

               “Thank you,” he said, patting her on the shoulder and disappearing into the room. Magnus took a couple quick breaths, thoroughly excited, and darted after Alec.

               Maddox was standing at the head of a very long table, flipping through a briefcase when Alec cleared his throat. The warlock looked up and smiled.

               “Bane, you’re early,” he commented, stretching his arms wide. “That’s new!”

               “I came early to discuss a couple things with you.” He turned and nodded to Magnus. Maddox’s eyes became slightly more shadowed as the Shadowhunter stepped forward, holding out a hand and smiling.

               “Magnus Lightwood, sir, it’s an _honor_ to meet someone I’ve read so very much about,” he said quickly, grasping Maddox’s hand with both of his and shaking it vigorously.

               “Lightwood? Of New York?” he asked, looking to Alec for confirmation. The warlock nodded slightly. “Well, isn’t this a pleasure.” His voice was carefully neutral.

               “Maddox.” Alec stepped forward and inclined his head to the High Warlock. “He has information on Valentine and the Circle. His Institute is the leading source of information on it in America.”

               “I see.” He rubbed a hand against his chin. “Begging your pardon, but Lightwood—weren’t they part of the Circle?”

               Alec’s blood froze. Magnus’ mouth fell open a little and the two men looked at each other.

               “What?” Alec breathed, barely an exhale.

               Maddox glanced between them, one eyebrow raising. “I could be incorrect.”

               “You have to be,” Magnus insisted, shaking his head. “The only Lightwoods are myself, Isabelle, and Max, and our parents, Maryse and Robert.”

               “Yes, them,” Pride said, still letting his gaze go back and forth in confusion. “Maryse Lightwood and Robert Lightwood. They were close with Lucian Graymark, Jocelyn Fairchild, and Valentine himself. I had an interaction with Maryse and Robert years ago. They were pregnant then.”

               “No.” Alec was shaking his head. “My parents couldn’t have been part of the Circle. They’re so against it.”

               “They don’t have the Circle markings,” Magnus put in, almost cutting Alec off. “Hodge does but they don’t. They couldn’t have been.”

               “Well, I used to know a Shadowhunter who was a Circle member and left before she was Marked,” Pride said slowly. “They might have done that. Hold on”—he raised a hand in pause—“are you insinuating that you two were unaware?”

               “Yes.” Magnus’ voice was bitter and cold. Alec cut him a glance and saw his eyes burning with a new, livid hatred. “Apparently, we were.”

 

An hour later, most of the other warlocks had arrived. Magnus and Alec were sitting together at the table, and Magnus was flipping through the portfolios that the warlock had brought from New York.

               “I guess I can talk about the things we’ve found on the Circle first,” he muttered, glancing over a couple typed spreadsheets. “Their experiments and things.” His gaze rose to the window and looked over the icy blue sky of London. Big Ben touched the sky in the distance.

               “Are you okay?” Alec asked, a new worry touching his heart. He wasn’t sure why he cared this much about the Shadowhunter who replaced him, but maybe it was just because they were both lied to. Alec wasn’t quite as angry as Magnus was—maybe he had succeeded in losing all emotion toward his parents—he was mostly numb. Whether he was numb from shock or from uncaring, though, he wasn’t sure.

               “I don’t think so,” Magnus sighed eventually, running his hands through his hair and ruffling his perfectly styled quiff.  “I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that Maryse lied to us all this time.” He looked up with distressed gold eyes. “What am I going to tell Jace and Izzy? And Max—oh Angel, what will I tell Max?”

               Alec shook his head mutely.

               A delicate cough from the head of the table drew silence, and ancient Maddox Pride rose fluidly to his feet. He smiled around at the assembled and began the introductory lines—a welcome to all, thanks for attending, and roll call. After determining everyone was there (save Ragnor), Alec reached forward and knocked on the table, their signal for wanting the floor. Pride nodded to him.

               “The floor goes to Alexander Bane, of New York,” he stated, sitting and tapping his gavel on the table. Several eyes fell to the cat-eyed warlock, who rose in his chair.

               “I am pleased to find all of us in good health, but I come bearing—bad news.” Alec closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “It grieves me to—to inform you all that Ragnor Fell, former High Warlock of London, has—died.”

               Shocked gasps and exclamations spread around the room. Pride audibly sucked in air. Cailin Toss, sitting across from Alec, put a hand over his mouth and his eyes filled with tears. Cailin, Ragnor, and Alec had always been close. Catarina and Cailin had had a falling out a few hundred years prior, and she was _great_ at holding grudges.

               “How?” he managed to choke out, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and daubing at his eyes. The warlock next to him rubbed his shoulder gently.

               “Shax demon, topically,” Alec said, clenching his fists to stop them shaking. “We were at a meeting held by Valentine Morgenstern.”

               At the name, everyone shifted uneasily. They had all heard tell of the rogue Shadowhunter—who _hadn’t?_ —but they had never had firsthand experience with his cruelty.

               “You were there too?” another voice called—his name was Luxor, from Egypt—cynically. “Why didn’t you save him?”

               “I tried,” Alec said, putting a hand to his side as the old ache returned. He had bandaged it himself after his shower but it wasn’t near as good as when Magnus had done it. “I was debilitated by a spider demon at the time. Ragnor was healing me when he got attacked. By the time I had the—the strength to stand, it was too late. Throat wound.”

               “Are you sure you didn’t just _let_ him die?” someone else shouted over the whispers that had arisen. Alec couldn’t tell who it was. “What more can be expected from a traitorous child of _Shadowhunters!_ ”

               “Ragnor was my best friend!” Alec shouted back, unable to control his temper any longer. Whispers grew into babble. He slammed a hand onto the table. “Don’t you _dare_ accuse me of disloyalty!”

               “Then why were you in the presence of Morgenstern?” Luxor demanded, standing. “A child of Shadowhunters attending a meeting for Shadowhunters? Shifty, at best.”

               “It was a meeting for the Downworld,” Alec growled. Sparks exploded around his hand that was on the table. “He was trying to recruit us for his army!” Babble grew to shouts.

               “Likely,” Luxor snorted.

               Pride banged the table with the gavel. It echoed over the tumult. “Order!” he shouted. “We will have _order!_ Bane has the floor! Quiet!” His eyes flashed. “Luxor, sit!”

               It still took a few long moments until anyone could make themselves heard. Luxor sat slowly, eyes burning.

               “I tried to save Ragnor, but I couldn’t,” Alec continued. “The New York Institute rushed to our aid too late. Save a handful of us, every Downworlder there was slaughtered. Valentine said that if we didn’t join him, we would all have to die. Shadowhunters and demons alike butchered us. If it wasn’t for the New York Institute, more would have died. Valentine and the Circle are a problem we need to take seriously.” He stared at Pride, who had both hands folded in front of his mouth. Neither looked away. “We need to stand with Idris.”

               He swallowed. Now came the risky part. He looked around at the assembled. Save for Luxor, the rest of the warlocks looked immersed in their grief but newly determined. Maybe this could work.

               “Magnus Lightwood of the New York Institute has accompanied me today,” he said slowly. “He holds a seat on the Clave as well as the Accords Council. I have asked him to speak on behalf of the Institute to appeal to you concerning our relations with the Shadowhunters.” A pause. “I give the floor to Magnus Lightwood, of Idris.” He sat and Magnus rose.

               Several pairs of eyes became distrustful as they fell on Magnus’ Marked arms, hands, and neck. He cleared his throat, smiling amicably, unfazed.

               “I would first like to thank High Warlock Pride for allowing me to speak to you all today,” he began with the ease of someone not only used to, but comfortable with, speaking in front of crowds. “I understand the source of your distrust or even reluctance to listen, but I only want a few minutes of your time.

               “Valentine Morgenstern rose to power years ago. He began in Idris, recruiting several Shadowhunters of influence, and told them they were merely following the Law, punishing unruly Downworlders. However, in the late eighties to the early nineties, Valentine grew more and more power-hungry. He began slaughtering Downworlders for the fun of it. His recklessness caused the fall of my Institute, prior to it being taken over by the Lightwoods, with the death of every single Whitelaw who stood against him to save a werewolf pack. They turned then from just killing Downworlders to killing _all_ who stood against him, Nephilim and Downworlders alike.

               “Valentine has been holding meetings in New York to recruit Downworlders of status and influence to his side by promising them power, glory, and anything they could imagine.” He pulled Alec’s letter from one of the portfolios and handed it to the warlock to his left. She glanced over it, shaking her head and passing it on. “When they refuse, the Downworlders are either murdered to avoid a force rising against him or kidnapped for his experiments.” Opening the file on his ‘experiments’, Magnus began passing pictures around. Gasps and murmurs began to grow. Pride tapped his gavel in warning. One warlock had to excuse herself, complaining of nausea, and ran from the room with one hand over her mouth after seeing the pictures.

               “The New York Institute is doing everything it can to stand against this—psychopath,” Magnus continued, “but we are unable to do this alone. We _need_ the assistance of the High Council. I beg of you—we are not like Valentine. We want nothing more than to see him fall. We aren’t able to do it alone. Please. If you help us, we will be able to vanquish a common enemy and prevent more senseless deaths like Ragnor’s. We are all one, and together we are strong.” He paused to take a deep breath. He couldn’t read the warlocks. “I—I have no more to say. I relinquish the floor.” He sat down, gripping the arms of the chair with white fists. Alec’s hair was in front of his eyes and his face betrayed nothing.

               A long silence ensued. Pride cleared his throat and said, “This table will now hear discussion.”

               Absolutely nothing. Cailin wiped at his eyes again. Luxor passed the pictures down the table without looking. His lips were a thin line and his jaw was tight. The silence was stifling.

               “No discussion?” Pride said, raising his eyebrows and looking around. “Nothing at all? Then I suppose we go to a vote. All opposed to allying with Idris, say nay.”

               “Nay.” Luxor’s response was immediate. Heads spun. Several warlocks hissed in annoyance. The word “coward” was heard. Luxor was unfazed. Alec was unsurprised.

               “Nay.” The High Warlock of Stockholm was next, shaking her head. “I am sorry, Lightwood, but I will not ally with the Nephilim. It was an uphill battle to get the Accords signed years ago, and I find it hard to believe that any Shadowhunter from Idris will accept or appreciate our help.”

               A pause and Pride opened his mouth, but another “Nay” cut him off. Alec looked up and his eyes met the mismatched ones of Berlin’s High Warlock. He shook his head.

               “I’m sorry, _mein freund_ ,” he said in his ridiculously thick accent. “I will not risk anyone else’s life for a Shadowhunter fight.”

               Alec inclined his head. “I understand, Adal.”

               No one else spoke. Pride raised his eyebrows and said, “Three nays. All in favor of allying with Idris, say aye.”

               “Aye.” Cailin’s whisper was first.

               “Aye.” Dublin’s was next. Moscow’s and New Delhi’s were in sync. Cardiff, Rome, Paris—slowly, every other warlock gave their ayes. Alec gave his last. Magnus looked at him and smiled. But Alec was watching Pride—as usual, the High Warlock was unreadable. If he said nay, it was all over.

               All eyes turned to the head of the table. Pride looked around. His gaze fell to smoldering Luxor, who was barely holding back a sneer. Cailin was still silently weeping. Adal was looking down at his folded hands on the table, turning his ring around his thumb. The silence was suffocating

               Pride finally cleared his throat. Alec’s heart sped up. Magnus, not understanding, kicked Alec’s foot under the table and mouthed, _What?_

               Alec shook his head. The head warlock took a deep breath. Alec gripped the arms of his chair hard. Moment of truth. Sink or swim. He closed his eyes—

               “Aye.”

               Alec could have cried in relief. As the head, Pride could have vetoed every aye by calling nay. That was the one vote he was worried about. The room released a collective breath. Luxor gave a strangled gasp, choking on it. Adal closed his eyes, nodding very slowly.

               “Sixteen ayes…to three nays. The vote has passed.” Pride stood again. “We will stand with New York, and with Idris.” And he banged the gavel.

 

“Thank you so much, Maddox,” Alec said after the rest of the warlocks had left. Luxor had been the first to storm out angrily, heavy cloak swirling in his wake. Cailin and Magnus were talking quietly behind Alec. “Your vote means a lot to me, and to him.”

               Pride smiled and gripped one of Alec’s hands in his. “Valentine is a threat that affects us all. I would be crazy to say no. See you in four months, Bane.”

               “Of course,” he said, smiling back, and watched as Pride left, swinging his overcoat on and holding his briefcase lightly in one hand. He turned and found Adal standing just behind him, looking out over the skyline. Alec glanced at Magnus and Cailin, who seemed to be hitting it off, and headed for the German warlock.

               “London is beautiful in the wintertime,” he commented quietly. “Berlin is already full of snow.”

               “It rarely snows here,” Alec agreed. “New York hasn’t gotten cold enough yet.”

               Adal sighed, his hands in the pockets of his traveling cloak. “You understand, Alexander, why I gave the answer I did.”

               Alec didn’t, but he didn’t say so. He watched Big Ben instead.

               “I have seen so many things you haven’t, and that is not a bad thing nor an insult—I am simply older, and that is all it is,” Adal began. “I was born in the 17th century. I do not know the exact year. I lived through every war—uprisings, revolutions, Vietnam, Korea, both World Wars, the Cold War—and I know how men are.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “World War Two was particularly close to home. Mengele—you know him.”

               “I know of him, yes,” Alec replied, thinking with some distaste on the disgusting Nazi doctor.

               “There are rumors—only rumors, mind—that he was a Nephilim.” Adal shifted. “And that the twins he worked on were Downworlders. That he worked closely with a corrupt Downworld power to seize young Downworlders and experiment on them. Of course, the mundanes don’t know that—they explained it all away. They were different colors, different shapes, different kinds, because of his experiments.” He sighed through his nose. “I watched Hitler rise to power by using his connections within the German Nephilim. Paying this one off, killing them if he needed to, cover ups and lies and trickery—that’s all the Nephilim showed us then, and all we could show in return was—was fear. We were rounded up in the camps with the Jewish populous.” He looked to Alec, eyes filled with tears. “I lost my Maria there.”

               Alec had heard tell from Cailin that Adal’s one true love had been killed during World War Two. She had been a faerie, and he had sworn to never love another. Since, he had lived alone, unable to love again.

               “The soldiers were Nephilim.” Adal’s green and brown eyes were dark and misty as he faced the window again. “And I will never forgive them.”

               “I’m so sorry, Adal.” It was inadequate at best, but it was all Alec could form.

               He nodded once. “I cannot forgive the Nephilim. I cannot trust them, and I will not _ever_ let my guard down around them.”

               Alec looked back at Magnus. Cailin had created a ball of red magic in one hand and was manipulating it with his other. Magnus was staring intently at it, mouth moving, obviously asking question after question. He looked so young, so…unwarriorlike.

               Adal seemed to feel Alec’s attention shift. “Lightwood seems different, Alec, do not misunderstand. Maybe he will prove me wrong.” He put one tanned hand on Alec’s shoulder. “For your sake, Alexander, I hope he does.”

 

“We must get dinner with Cailin before we leave,” Magnus insisted as they left the building. Adal had left ahead of them, which left Alec and Cailin to catch up. He was the next youngest warlock next to Alec, only about a hundred years old.

               “I plan to leave tonight,” Alec replied, his mind still spinning with Adal’s final words.

               _Maybe he will prove me wrong. For your sake, Alexander, I hope he does._

               _What would my sake have to do with Magnus being good or not?_ He stared at his feet as they walked, and didn’t realize Magnus was talking to him until the Shadowhunter snapped his fingers in front of his face.

               “Sorry, what?”

               Magnus stopped walking, Alec following suite a few paces ahead.

               “I want to go to Idris, then,” the Shadowhunter stated. “If you want to leave. After we visit the Institute, of course.”

               “What do you want to go to Idris for?” Alec asked, staring at him as if he’d lost his mind—which the warlock was pretty sure he had.

               “You don’t have to come,” Magnus continued, chin arched. “You can make me a Portal and shove me through if you really want. But I want to go to Idris. I won’t ask you to accompany me. I need to see Maryse and Robert.”

               Alec heaved a sigh. He had been dreading this.

               “Is there any way I can change your mind? Attacking Maryse and Robert won’t change the fact they were Circle members,” Alec warned.

               “I—I know,” Magnus sighed. “But I just want to confirm it. I don’t know why they would lie to us like this.”

               “Lie to _you_ ,” Alec felt the need to point out. “I haven’t spoken to either of them in years.”

               “They didn’t tell you the truth either!” Magnus snapped. His ringed hands clenched into fists.

               “I didn’t care,” Alec replied, his ears growing hot with anger. “And I still don’t.”

               “You don’t care that your parents were in leagues with the Downworlder-slaughtering pack of assholes who are running rampant around the Shadow World?” Magnus demanded. “You don’t care that the Circle, who your family is now associated with, _killed Ragnor?_ ”

               Alec moved so fast even he couldn’t register it. He grabbed Magnus by the front of his shirt and slammed him into a nearby building. The warrior grunted, clutching at Alec’s arm.

               “Ragnor’s death is not a weapon for you to use!” Alec shouted in his face. “Ragnor’s death was a tragedy and no one’s fault but Valentine’s!”

               “Then you should care!” Magnus shoved Alec backwards. The warlock was forced to release him. “Then you should care!” he repeated. “The Circle affects all of us, Alexander, especially Downworlders!”

               “Don’t pretend like you give a damn,” Alec snorted. “Don’t pretend like any Shadowhunter gives a damn about us! No Upworlder cares about us! They only care when we step out of their finely drawn lines and traipse all over their Upworld.”

               “That is not true,” Magnus said, shaking his head. His anger had obviously subsided. “Alexander, you should know that isn’t true.”

               “Really? Because everything I’ve ever seen or experienced from the Upworld is _hate_ and _cruelty_!” Alec shouted. His voice echoed off the cold streets—they had stopped down a lonely side street that was a shortcut to their hotel. “I was thrown out from my home at age twelve! I was told I wasn’t allowed to meet my baby brother because I might _corrupt_ him! I can’t step onto holy ground because the damn _Shadowhunters_ want to keep everyone who _isn’t like them out!_ ”

               “Alexander, that isn’t—”

               “Don’t _patronize me!_ ” Alec’s vision was blurring and he hugged his arms around himself, shaking visibly. “I refuse to be patronized by someone who thinks they’re holier than thou!”

               “You don’t know me at all,” he said quietly, a muscle in his jaw going. “If you really think that about me, then you don’t know me at _all_ , Alexander Bane.”

               Both men stood there, locked in an intense staring contest, neither speaking. Alec found himself thinking dimly about how Magnus’ pretty features looked so very _cold_ , colder than the icy air that cut through London, colder than the clouds and the snow that loomed in them.

               “I’m sorry,” Alec finally said, turning his gaze anywhere but those gold eyes. “This whole Circle thing has me on edge, and so does the High Council Meeting, and now this bombshell?” He sighed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Will I even be welcome in Idris?”

               “You want to come?” Magnus said, startled—he obviously hadn’t expected that.

               “Obviously. I can’t just let you go alone.” He rolled his eyes. “Jace wouldn’t allow it.”

               _Also, I like the way you smell like sandalwood. There. I said it._ Alec shuddered to think what would happen if he spoke those words aloud.

               Magnus smiled, and it was like a million tiny suns lit up Alec’s world. His heart stuttered at the almost childlike grin that spread across the Shadowhunter’s face.

               “Alec, I—” he began, but his gaze drifted behind Alec and suddenly it dropped. His hand flew to his belt. “Alexander!”

               Alec spun and found a Ravener demon lunging at him. He didn’t have time to think, throw up a shield—anything. It was on top of him faster than he could register, there was a lot of pain, and then just…nothing.


	7. Secrets, Spoilers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, so this one is a day /early/ to make up for the fact that the past two have been late! I'm clever!
> 
> Also, the title to this one is a Doctor Who reference. Cookie points and a shoutout to anyone who can tell me which character I was referencing!
> 
> Contains swearing in the form of Declan Branwell.
> 
> I own none of Shadowhunters!

Magnus whipped his seraph blade from his belt. “Gabriel!” he shouted, and it blazed to life. He threw it like a dagger and it sank hilt-deep in the Ravener’s back. The demon let out a shriek and spasmed, and Magnus launched himself forward. He spun and kicked the demon in the face, throwing it backwards just as another black shadow dropped from a rooftop to deliver the final crushing blow. Ichor splattered the buildings, hissing and spitting, and Magnus’ seraph blade was kicked back to him. It tapped against his boot, sheathing itself, but Magnus’ gaze was on the boy in front of him.

               Declan Branwell had grown into a ruggedly handsome young man, and Magnus could say that without a trace of his old jealousy. Declan was blond with green eyes, the opposite of Magnus’ type—black hair, blue eyes, and honest. Above all else, Declan had always been a compulsive liar about the littlest things—who ate the last of the leftovers, who forgot to replace the weapons after training, who pushed whom down the stairs—but when it came to things that mattered, he was the first one to take the rap for anyone else, regardless of whether it was his fault or not.

               He turned those smoldering green eyes on Magnus, who had dropped to his knees and was searching for a pulse at Alec’s neck. For a heart-stopping second, he couldn’t find it, but then found it fluttering weakly at his fingertips. Relief swamped him. He had several wounds in his shoulders from the Ravener’s claws and blood covered his front. He was out cold, but most definitely alive.

               “De-Declan,” Magnus stammered, rising to his feet and looking up.

               Declan clocked him.

               The sharp punch to his cheek knocked Magnus back to the ground, landing hard on his ass with a grunt. His palms scraped against the cobblestone and the taste of blood coated Magnus’ tongue. Spitting, hoping he hadn’t gotten any on his Prince Fox coat, he looked up in shock.

               “You think you can just—just fucking leave for _years_ without a goodbye and then just come _back_ and expect everything to be the _same_?” Declan’s words dripped poison. His expression flickered between sadness and fury.

               “Declan, I didn’t—you—I did tell you!” Magnus stammered. Then he shook his head, rolling to his knees. He pulled Alec’s long arm around his neck and pulled the unconscious boy to a roughly vertical position, then moving the warlock to his back. “This isn’t important right now. Right now, Alec needs help.”

               “This damned conversation isn’t over by any means,” Declan said, pointing a finger at Magnus. Then he turned. “Come on, let’s get him to the Institute.”

 

Alec’s sleep was a dreamless one for the most part. For the rest of it, snatches of conversation drifted into his subconscious.

               _—let’s call Cailin—_

_—Ravener—_

_—spider demon burns—_

_—left, can’t just come back—_

_—life in New York—_

_—waking up?_

               Alec thought he saw light above him a couple times, but it faded almost as quickly as it had come. He thought he heard meowing once and a dim thought of The Chairman appeared in his mind. Pain came once, faintly, and left. Whispers grew to shouts and dropped back to whispers.

               Then, suddenly, he was in Paris. He had a strange deja-vu feeling. He looked to his side and saw Ragnor and Catarina bickering over a map.

               “What do you think, Alec?” she finally asked, turning to him with raised eyebrows. He felt himself shrugging and turned away, watching a mime with a faint interest.

               “Whatever you guys want,” he said, lips barely moving to form the words.

               The scene around him changed, and then he was waiting on a bus in London, and Ragnor was getting pickpocketed. He grabbed the kid, who let out a startled shriek, and flung him toward the street, shouting in his face. His words were lost in the rumble of traffic and the saxophone from a nearby street performer, but Catarina had to step in.

               Another shift and Alec was alone. He wasn’t sure where he was—it was a scene he was unfamiliar with—but Ragnor was there, and looking right at Alec.

               “What are you doing here?” Alec said, not dream-Alec but his real conscience, and it was really Ragnor. His heart ached. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.”

               Ragnor shook his head, smiling. “I’m not upset with you, Alexander Bane,” he murmured. “It was my decision to take on the Shax demon and my repercussion to deal with. Besides, there wasn’t anything you could have done. But I don’t want you to let yourself get all worked up about it.” He reached out and touched Alec’s shoulder. It was so painstakingly familiar that Alec felt tears building.

               “Let Magnus in,” he said, very gently. “I know you don’t want to, but I want you to.”

               Alec was already shaking his head. “I c-can’t. He makes me so nervous, Ragnor.”

               “Why?” It was a knowing question, like Ragnor was already aware of an answer Alec was not.

               An answer Alec was scared of.

               An answer that something inside him was shouting out. 

               “I’m _not_ ,” Alec choked out. “I’m not—especially not for a Shadowhunter. Not for—not for him.” His hands were shaking. "I'm...not."

"You are, and that's okay." Ragnor smiled. "You must be brave--and you are, Alexander. You are so brave." 

Alec sobbed. "I'm not. I want to be but I--I'm just--not. Tell me how to be. Please." He reached out but his hands fell through Ragnor's silhouette like he was water. "Please--show me." 

               “You’re still so young,” Ragnor murmured, his thumb touching Alec’s cheekbone. “You’ll realize it one day. Let him in, Alexander. You deserve to be loved.”

 

Alec’s eyes flew open and he sucked in a huge breath, bolting upright. Stars exploded in front of his eyes as his head collided with something, and two identical shouts were made. Alec thought one was from him. He fell back to the pillow, backs of his hands pressed against his forehead, wincing.

               “Give me some warning next time,” the other person swore, and Alec blinked against the white light that stabbed his eyes. Magnus was rubbing his forehead, looking slightly put out but also greatly relieved. He sat forward, elbows on his knees, smiling a young smile. “Glad you’re up.”

               _Let him in._

               Alec turned his head away, face flaming. “Where are we?” he asked, rubbing his palms over his face.

               “The London Institute. The Branwells are keeping us.” Magnus’ smile became a little tenser. “Some more grudgingly than others.”

               “How am I here?” Alec asked instead.

               “Declan gave you his blessing. I couldn’t since I’m not a resident in this Institute.” At Alec’s confused glance, Magnus expounded: “Declan Branwell. He’s about my age. Little younger.”

               “What happened? How long was I out? Answer in that order.”

               “Ravener demon happened,” Magnus replied. “I called Cailin to come heal you yesterday.”

               _“Yesterday?”_ Alec echoed, pushing himself upright, more careful this time. He didn’t need a concussion. “How long was I out?”

               “It’s Tuesday evening.” It was Magnus’ turn to look away. “We thought you flickered to the land of the living a couple times, but the things you said were always gibberish and in different languages, and you passed right back out again. Cailin had to use so much magic to heal you, he called you ‘magic drunk’.” Finger-made air quotes were included.

               “If it’s anything like normal drunk, I’m shocked I don’t have a hangover.” Alec folded his hands in his lap. “Two days, huh?”

               “Well, on and off, but yes. Two days.”

               _Let him in, Alexander._

               Alec picked at a stitch in the blankets. “Is it weird to be back?” he asked awkwardly. Magnus shrugged.

               “It’s been a while,” he said by way of answer. “Things have changed a lot, and without me. I feel more out of place than anything.”

               Alec nodded slowly. There was a knock at the heavy door to the infirmary. Both men looked up.

               _Let him in_.

               “Come in,” Magnus called. The door opened and a blond, green-eyed boy came in, looking alarmingly like Jace in his long stride and the swagger to his shoulders.

               “You’re up,” he said, raising an eyebrow. In that moment, there was no doubt in Alec’s mind that this was Declan Branwell. “I thought the stench had gotten stronger.”

               “Declan,” Magnus said in a warning sort of way. Alec waved him off. If Declan could dish, so could Alec.

               “Don’t worry about it,” he said, looking half-heartedly at the Shadowhunter in front of him. “I’m just glad I don’t smell like whatever he rolled in.”

               “Alexander!” Magnus said instead.

               “Shitdamn, at least it smells better than how you look.”

               “Knock it off, both of you,” Magnus finally cut in, rising quickly to his feet. “Declan, down. Alec just woke up. Give him some space.”

               Alec’s brow furrowed. “I can fight my own battles, Magnus.”

               “Yeah, and you just decided to show your fucking face after nearly a dozen years!” Declan snapped irritably, completely ignoring Alec.

               “That wasn’t how I wanted us to reunite, Declan, you know that!” Magnus replied, obviously struggling to keep a lid on his temper. Only then did Alec notice the dark bruise smeared across one cheek, and the slight swelling that accompanied it. He wondered if Declan hit him.

               “Hell, if you had wanted it to be any other way, you should have made the damn parting a little sweeter,” the Brit growled.

               “I did everything in my power to get it through to you that I was leaving!” Magnus shouted, voice echoing around the infirmary. The stone walls sang with his melodic tenor, raised in ugly anger. “You just didn’t want to believe it! You were the only one not present for my leaving.”

               “ _Subito solus_ ,” Declan said coldly. “And you never spared me another fucking thought.”

               _And suddenly, I was alone._

               Magnus’ anger faded. Alec could see it on his face. “I thought about you every day, Declan,” he said, very quietly. “I thought about how you would grow up and I wouldn’t be there to see it. I thought about how we were going to be _parabatai_ and now suddenly we couldn’t. I thought about all the nightmares you saw me through, and the panic attacks I you. I never stopped thinking about you.”

               Declan turned away, arms crossed. He didn’t reply. Alec felt like an intruder in a conversation he wasn’t supposed to overhear. For some odd reason, Magnus’ last statement set something inside Alec’s chest cavity alight in a not very pleasant way.

               _Let him in, Alexander. You deserve to be loved._

               Alec swung his feet over the side of the bed and rose shakily. His head spun and he clutched the headboard of the bed for support. Both Shadowhunters behind him made a startled noise and moved toward him, but he shook his head. He put a hand to his side, waiting for the ache—and found the old burns had been healed. Startled, he glanced down (why in the name of all things unholy was he half-naked?) and saw a slight discoloration on that side, scarring that would never truly fade.

               “Cailin healed them,” Magnus said, at the same time Declan cut in with, “I thought warlocks didn’t scar.”

               “Old wounds, ones not healed immediately, will scar,” Alec murmured, rubbing his fingers curiously on the scar tissue. It was firm under his soft fingertips. “Never…happened to me before.”

               Magnus found himself not staring at Alec’s beautiful body, but at the curious expression on his face. It was the expression of a young child seeing a butterfly for the first time, silhouetted against the sky as it soared away from grabbing little fingers. It was an expression of innocence and new knowledge, of discovery and something else, something purer and dream-softened around the edges, of things unscarred.

               At that moment, Magnus was dimly aware that he fell, very hard and very permanently, in love with Alexander Bane.

 

“It’s irrational.”

               There was a bang and a muffled crash, and Declan came around a bookshelf, tossing a book onto the table in front of Magnus. There were four of them in the library. Declan and Magnus were in there, researching. Alec had gone to the roof to do warlock-esque things, _things that involve space and air and birds, Magnus, don’t inquire,_ and Magnus didn’t inquire.

               They were joined by two other Shadowhunters. Sara Branwell was Declan’s mother, and looked much like him physically, but much older. Her blonde hair was fading into gray at the roots, and not for the first time, Magnus wondered if it was because of the stressful life of being a Shadowhunter or merely from age. She was a very kind woman with kind eyes and lots of laugh lines.

               Niall Branwell was Declan’s brother, exactly Magnus’ age down to the day, and he looked more like Magnus than he did either of his parents or his siblings. He had long, shoulder-length dark hair and matching eyes. He looked far younger than Declan did, but maybe that was just because Declan had been forced to grow up faster.

               Although Declan was younger, Niall didn’t have the knack for leading that Declan did. In their father’s absence, Declan took over as the head of the Institute. Sara let him, deciding (in confidentiality to Magus) that it was best for Declan to learn to lead for when she and his father were gone.

               The only ones absent from their happy posse were David, the boys’ father and Sara’s spouse, and Keira, the youngest and the only girl, with angry eyes and a consistent pout that always made one think she was constantly left out of something. She was a very fierce fighter and had kicked the balls off of Magnus several times that he had preferred not to dwell on. They were on vacation in Idris, staying in one of the cottages on the Brocelind Plain.

               “What’s irrational?” Magnus asked, not looking up from his warlock book. It was probably his favorite book from the Institute’s library. Magic enthralled him in the same way makeup and glitter enthralled him—it was forbidden to Shadowhunters, and therefore, it was _exciting_.

               “You told me that tall, dark, and dumbass up there—”

               “Language,” Niall said cheerily. He was the only one Declan wouldn’t hit. 

               “—was born to Shadowhunter parents.” Declan, shooting a Look at his brother, flipped open the book he had thrown at Magnus and jabbed a finger at a title named _Warlock Creation_. Magnus angled his head to peer at the book’s cover.

               “The Downworld and How It Was Brought About,” he read with a cocked eyebrow. He looked up through his mascaraed lashes. “I’ve never heard of this.”

               “And no one else has ever heard of _Magic Through the Ages: The Shadowhunter’s Guide to Warlocks and Their Achievements,_ but you have a copy,” he snapped irritably. The dark circles under his eyes were the only sign that his insomnia was getting bad again. It always did in the winter.

               “Read the fucking chapter,” Declan growled, knocking a hand onto the mahogany of the wood as Magnus’ eyes slid slowly back to the chapter on time-bending. He snapped Magnus’ book shut and the other one took its place.

               “Declan, _language_ , little bro,” Niall repeated, a frown pursing his lips. “Mom is right _here_.”

               Declan was one of those people who swore just to swear, not because he thought it made himself look cool, but because he liked to. He liked the crisp way they tasted popping from his tongue, and a lot of times, he liked the attention they drew. When he got tired from his insomnia or angry (he got angry a lot), a lot more swears happened a lot more often. Magnus had always admired and been jealous of his courage. He had drawn on that courage for years. That was what had convinced him to start wearing makeup, regardless of what anyone else said to him. And Magnus had heard it all.

               “Here, actually,” she called from the balcony, seven feet up, which functioned as a ‘second story’ of sorts to the massive library. She leaned over the railing, her long hair pulled back in a messy bun and stuck through with a stele, holding it precariously in place. “Niall, you aren’t going to change your brother, honey. I gave up five years ago.”

               “What are you doing, Mom?” Niall asked curiously.

               “Translating another one of these old reference books,” she said, like it was a process she went through every day, and disappeared. The scratching of pen on paper resumed.

               Declan rolled his eyes but let the matter drop. Magnus skimmed the chapter, thumbing the pages, bored. It was all common knowledge to him—warlocks didn’t have a navel because they survived off of demon energy in the womb instead of food; they all had a mark that defined them; immortal, magic, blah, blah, blah.

               “I know all this, Declan,” Magnus yawned, stretching and reaching for the granola bar he had abandoned a little bit away. It was his fourth this hour.

               “No, _this_.” Declan took Magnus’ hand and put it on top of a paragraph. Years ago, this touch would have brought shivers to Magnus’ skin, and he would have cheekily raised it to his mouth and kissed it. Declan would have turned away and scowled at Magnus. It was back when Magnus was trying to figure out his sexuality and where he would fit in with the way he was feeling.

               Things had changed very much.

               Magnus peered at the paragraph under his palm.

               _Warlocks are created when a demon, most commonly an Eidolon, takes the shape of a human, then proceeds to manipulate, trick, and bed a mundane or some other Downworlder, and forces the host to carry the spawn to term_.

               The wording made Magnus very upset. Words like ‘host’ and ‘spawn’ made warlocks sound more like parasites than living, breathing humans. He wanted to point that out, and nearly did, but Declan cut him off as their eyes met again.

               “Warlocks are created when a _demon_ beds a _mundane_ or the like,” Declan emphasized. Magnus’ brow furrowed, but he realized it the second Niall realized too, and both sucked in a sharp breath. Declan looked incredibly pleased with himself.

               Magnus swallowed a suddenly dry chunk of granola. It ground against his throat like sandpaper. Niall had turned white. Even Sara had stilled.

               “Maryse Lightwood might have carried the child to term,” Declan voiced, “but Robert Lightwood was not the father.”

 

Alec stood in the icy air, punctuated by the wind that pulled at his hair and pushed his body. He exhaled through his nose and focused his magic into his palms.

               Ragnor had taught him, in the early days when Alec was still fourteen and Ragnor was ancient, a version of aikido that invoked the executor’s magic, pulling strength from their core and limbering the mind. Ragnor often used it as a morning stretching ritual, but Alec had fallen from the habit. His stiff muscles now demanded it.

               Spinning and twisting, lunging and shielding and humming to himself, sometimes slowly, sometimes faster, Alec moved around the rooftop, dripping magic and throwing it, weaving it around his fingers like yarn.

               He wasn’t sure how long he was moving and stretching, but he quite suddenly became aware of someone watching him. He turned, letting the blue fade, and saw Magnus, regarding him with a flushed face and a coy smile.

               “What?” Alec said, sharper than he intended. He didn’t recognize the heat that flushed his entire body when he thought of Magnus regarding his half-naked body, shielded from the cold London air by his magic.

               “Oh nothing,” Magnus replied. “I was just admiring the way your body moves when you do aikido.”

               Alec narrowed his eyes and touched Magnus’ mind. He wasn’t lying, even a little bit, and for some reason, that upset Alec. He pulled back and shook his head, jerking his chin away.

               Under the pure, sweet honesty, he had felt something darker—fear of something, fear of words, fear linked to a heavy, battered book that hid in the library. Fear of—of something Alec couldn’t name.

               _Let him in_.

               Magnus rubbed a hand on the back of his head. “I was thinking about Idris. I still want to go. I don’t know if I want to go right—right _now_ , per sey.”

               “Really?” Alec asked, startled. “I thought you were still burning with the desire to see Maryse and Robert.”

               At the mention of their names, Magnus flinched a little. Alec didn’t miss it. He bent down and retrieved his coat from where he had discarded it, pulling the fabric, stiff with cold, over his body. It was such an uncharacteristic reaction from Magnus in response to—to anything. Something had happened.

               “What’s wrong?” Alec asked, his voice leaving no room for argument. Magnus didn’t even look like he had it in him to argue.

               So, Magnus took a deep breath and told Alec.

               “I know.”

               Magnus jerked his head up. “Beg your _pardon?_ ” he demanded.

               “I mean, I assumed.” Alec pulled some bills from his wallet and counted them. Snapping his fingers, they disappeared and two cups of coffee replaced them. Alec handed one to the Shadowhunter. Magnus took it but didn’t move. Alec sipped at it.

               “Two Shadowhunter parents don’t just _produce_ a warlock,” he continued, pacing to the edge of the roof and looking over the ledge. “I figured demonic activity of some kind had to be involved. I just wasn’t sure how a Shadowhuntress’s body was able to not reject the demon blood, carry me to term, and not even realize until I was _nine_ that I wasn’t her and Robert’s kid. I’ve stopped caring.” But the pain in his eyes spoke the volumes his words didn’t.

               “I guess that’s another thing we can ask about when we get to Idris,” Magnus sighed. “I hate secrets.”

               Alec thought about the secret he had, the one he refused to believe himself, the one that only Ragnor had known. He nodded. “Me too,” he lied through his teeth.

               Magnus came to the ledge and leaned on it, next to Alec. His teeth chattered slightly and he rubbed his nose with one gloved hand. His makeup was flawless as he peered down into the street below. Alec was able to look at him, and look at him he did, those almond-shaped eyes, the olive skin, the jawline that could cut glass… He looked very young, very young and very scarred, not physically but emotionally, mentally, the kind of scars that never really _showed_ but were always _there._ Alec was able to think about his past, and how this poor, broken little thing was so very, very _strong._

               He looked away when Magnus turned.

_I don’t think either of us really feel like we belong._

_Let him in, Alexander. You deserve to be loved._

At that moment, Alec was dimly aware that he fell (and that he let himself fall), very hard and very permanently, in love with Magnus Lightwood.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so like I know y'all are thinking "BANE YOU SUCK WTF I DO NOT COME HERE TO HAVE CHAPTER PARTS DANGLED IN FRONT OF ME LIKE A FUCKIN' BEGGIN' STRIP IN FRONT OF A HAPPY DOGGO LIKE HOLLUP OH NO BOO WHAT! IS YOU DOIN" And I'm very sorry. 
> 
> But long story short, the chapter isn't done. I could give you the reasons why (I have a cow with an infected laceration several inches deep and wide on his nose, I'm applying for jobs, I haven't had time) but y'all don't care. 
> 
> I know y'all don't care becuase I, I MYSELF, DO NOT CARE.
> 
> So.... SO I decided to give you several snippets of the new chapter! To like, idk, REALLY dangle that Beggin' Strip. Like the final Beggin' Strip in the bag which is always the meatiest and has the bacon smell from all the rest of the Beggin' Strips, so it's like the beggin'ist Beggin' Strip... IDK. I'm bad at metaphors.
> 
> But anyway. Here's some snippets from the upcoming chapter! Hope it'll sate you?
> 
> This has not been an endorsement for Beggin' Strips.

“To die, to sleep—to sleep, perchance to dream,” Jace said with a shrug. “Pick your poison.”

               “Stop quoting Shakespeare at me.”

               “You’re only mad because you didn’t do it first.”

               “That’s the _worst_ Shakespeare play, anyway.”

               “We’re no longer related if you can’t see the genius that is _Hamlet_.”

               “Jace, we weren’t related to _begin with_.”

 

“I—I mean it,” Izzy gasped out, clutching her sides. “I mean, Alec’s gay, so—”

               “ _Wait_.” Jace snapped his head up from where it had lolled back again. “Wait, fuck, wait—Alec’s _gay_?”

 

“If you want to keep antagonizing me,” Alec panted, “then I will decimate you.”

 

“Max—” Alec knelt down, hands shaking. The little blue eyed boy looked at him, his eyes darting from Magnus to Alec and back. “Max. My name—I’m Alexander. Alec. Your brother.”

 

“The kind of people that would lie to one child after abandoning the other are not people I want to be related to.”

 

“I gave up your name, I refused to call you Mother and Father at your own discretion, I didn’t set foot back into the only home I had ever known, I haven’t met my little brother, I spent six years away from the rest of my family—” Alec had to stop and take a sharp, shaking breath. “What more do you want me to sacrifice for your damn _pride?_ ”

 

"I only have one son," Maryse whispered. It was a horrible, grating whisper that clawed at Alec's soul and burned his veins like poison. "And it is  _not_ you."

 

“Have you told _him?_ ” Magnus shouted, not caring who heard him. Maryse’s icy face faltered slightly. It was the kind of falter that one got when one's deepest, darkest secret had been brought to light by someone they thought was still in the dark. Magnus played off of that. “Judging by the look you’ve got, you _haven’t!_ You and I both know that Robert is not Alec’s father! If he hasn’t figured it out by now, he’s even dumber than you!”

               “Magnus Demetrius, you keep your voice down,” she hissed. “We are surrounded by very important people—”

               “I will not,” Magnus growled, although he did lower his tone. “What are you going to tell Max, huh? What will you tell him when he gets older and starts asking why his brother is half demon?”

               “You were never like this,” Maryse said, coldly. “You were never like this until you started hanging out with that—that Downworlder—”

               “With _your son_ , you mean!”

 

“Max is being brought up in a poisonous household.”

               “He has Jace and Izzy.”

               “What the fuck are Jace and Izzy able to do when they’re in Brooklyn and Max is at the Academy here with those—monsters?”


	9. Working Through Some Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT so this chapter is a little shorter than I'd like it to be just because I've been incredibly busy and fighting to keep writer's block away. All the snippets from last week aren't in here, but a couple of them are ;) Y'all'll just have to wait til next week to find out the rest!

Jace sighed and ran his hands through his hair. His _parabatai_ mark felt icy against his chest, still throbbing with his recent attempt to track Magnus. He had found him on a cold rooftop somewhere, with chilly wind across cobblestones and a pain on one side of his face. The last he had heard from either of them was when he had texted Alec to make sure they had gotten to London, and a snarky response.

               _I can handle myself, Jace._

               He sighed and leaned against the balcony railing. Other Shadowhunters, various warriors from Idris as well as surrounding cities, were milling about in the ops room below him, working and talking quietly amongst themselves. He rested his weight on his forearms and let his gaze wander. Two girls were talking quietly over a screen that displayed security cameras from around the city. Isabelle was poring over a 3D map of Staten Island, pointing at things and conversing with a larger group. Still others were reading and making notes.

               Jace couldn’t help but flash back to that night at Valentine’s recruitment meeting.

               A Shadowhunter, one he recognized but couldn’t put a name to, had been attacking a vampire when Jace had thrown himself into the fray, stabbing out at the other warrior. The vampire had run. They had exchanged blows, and were locked in a pushing match when the Shadowhunter looked up at him and smirked.

               “Johnathan,” he had murmured. “I’ll tell Valentine we saw you. He’ll be so _pleased_.”

               Jace had been startled and confused, and had taken a step back. That moment of hesitation had let the Shadowhunter turn and race away. Jace had followed, shouting obscenities, but he had leapt through a Portal and disappeared. Jace had been forced to let him get away.

               What had he meant? Why would Valentine know of him or even care?

               Izzy raised her head and they met eyes. She jerked her head at him. _Let’s go._

               Jace nodded once and pushed himself up, wandering toward the library. He let the heavy door shut behind him and sighed as he looked blankly at the bookshelves. He noted their Shakespeare collection and ran his fingers lightly over the worn spines. He remembered Alec and himself spending days sitting in the library, poring over these books. Then, later, he and Magnus.

               The doors creaked. “What’s up?” Izzy asked, cutting right to the chase. Very Izzy-like. “You’ve got something on your mind.”

               “Do I?” Jace asked, unsure if he was being rhetorical or not. He rubbed his face. “I’m worried about Magnus.”

               “You know nothing’s happened,” Izzy replied. “If it had, you would have felt it.” She pressed a finger into his chest, right over the spinning Mark that connected him and Magnus. “Here.”

               “I know.” He rubbed his head. “I’m worried about—about both of them. What if something has happened? You know how it’s been throbbing the past two days. It just—it hurts. Constantly. Not a—a physical pain. Something inside.” He rubbed a hand over his flat stomach.

               “Food poisoning,” Izzy suggested.

               “Well, considering you’re not in London, I doubt that.”

               She gave him a withering glare. He managed a grin. Her face relaxed and she ran a thumb over his cheekbone.

               “Have you been eating? You’re sunken,” she said quietly.

               Jace shrugged. “Eating, sure.”

               “Sleeping?”

               “Ah,” he said with a sardonic half-smile, “for I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.”

               “Nightmares?” Izzy echoed, brow furrowing.

               “To die, to sleep—to sleep, perchance to dream,” Jace said with a shrug. “Pick your poison.”

               “Stop quoting Shakespeare at me.”

               “You’re only mad because you didn’t do it first.”

               “That’s the _worst_ Shakespeare play, anyway.”

               “We’re no longer related if you can’t see the genius that is _Hamlet_.”

               “Jace, we weren’t related to _begin with_.”

               He turned away. “When we crashed Valentine’s—thing, there was a Shadowhunter who—who called me by my first name and told me that Valentine would be happy to hear about me.”

               “That’s—odd,” Izzy conceded, nodding once. “They called you Jace?”

               “They called me Johnathan.” He put his forearm against the bookshelf and leaned his forehead on it. The musty smell of paper and old leather wafted up to greet him. “And with Magnus going to check on Alec and then both of them suddenly vanishing to London without so much as a _goodbye?_ When Valentine and his men are running rampant? So yes, Isabelle. I’m having nightmares.”

               “Jace, they’re both strong. Hell, Alec singlehandedly showed up the entire High Warlock Council, and Magnus has been kicking your ass since he was fourteen.” She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe they’re just worried about something.”

               He was quiet a long time.

               “Did you know that Magnus is gay?”

               Jace opened his eyes. The news didn’t surprise him, but it stirred something in his chest. “I feel like I knew.”

               “I’m shocked Mom and Dad haven’t figured it out yet. All the makeup he wears—that boy needs to teach me how he does his fucking eyeliner, it’s sharp as a sword—the flirting he does with anything that’ll stand still long enough—”

               “I think that makes him bisexual, not gay.”

               “I think he likes dick.”

               Jace grinned despite himself. “Top or bottom?”

               Izzy grimaced. “I don’t want to think about it that hard.”

               “But you are now.” He turned, hands in his pockets. “Giving or receiving?”

               “I—I feel like he’d be giving.”

               Jace burst out laughing. He threw his head back and laughed until it rang around the library. Izzy laughed too, and their laughter mingled like birdsong in the summer breeze, echoing around the tall-ceilinged room. It felt good to laugh, something Jace hadn’t done in what felt like weeks.

               They laughed until Jace felt stitches in his side and Izzy was wiping tears away. They laughed until they both had to sit down, right there on the cobblestone floor. When they finally stopped, Jace felt lighter than a feather.

               “You think Alec knows?” Izzy asked, sitting back on her hands. Her snake bracelet caught and threw the light.

               “I think—I don’t know what I think,” Jace said, chuckling again. “I think Magnus is as gay as his eyeshadow is sparkly.”

               They both choked on laughter again.

               “I—I mean it,” Izzy gasped out, clutching her sides. “I mean, Alec’s gay, so—”

               “ _Wait_.” Jace snapped his head up from where it had lolled back again. “Wait, fuck, wait—Alec’s _gay_?”

               Izzy’s smile faded. “I—what? You didn’t—”

               “Holy hell, no, I didn’t _know_ ,” Jace said, eyes wide. “Alec’s _gay?_ ”

               “It’s so obvious,” Izzy replied. She sat up and put her hands in her lap. “Yes, Alec’s gay.”

               Jace stared down at his hands, at the open eye rune on the back of the right.

               “Angel,” he swore, rubbing the joint where his shoulder met his neck. “Angel, Angel, Angel.”

               “I don’t know if _he_ really wants to accept it,” Izzy continued. “But I’ve always known. Woman’s intuition, maybe. However it is, I know.”

               Jace let his head fall back. “I’m sorry I didn’t,” he mumbled to a boy who wasn’t there.

              

“What’s wrong with you?”

               “What’s wrong with _you?_ ”

               Alec didn’t reply, and instead kept landing punch after punch onto the bag dangling from the ceiling. His hands were throbbing and his shoulders screamed, but he didn’t care. Declan had appeared in the doorway and stood leaning against the jamb with his arms crossed.

               It was the day after Magnus’ and Alec’s talk on the roof. Magnus had insisted on staying overnight again to make sure Alec was fully rested and recovered before they tried Portal-travel. Alec didn’t mind too much—it meant he could put off seeing his parents.

               “Your punches are weak and uncoordinated,” he criticized. “You’re putting too much arm and not enough back into it.

               “I didn’t ask you,” Alec grunted, landing another blow and feeling the shockwaves all the way through his shoulders.

               “You didn’t tape your hands either,” Declan continued. “You’re not going to feel nice in the morning.”

               Gasping, Alec took a couple steps backwards, backhanding sweat from his face and shaking his head. Sweat spun from his hair. Declan wrinkled his nose.

               “Warlocks smell worse when they sweat,” he judged.

               Alec thrust out a hand. A rope of blue magic spun from his fingers and grabbed Declan around the chest. With a jerk of one hand, Alec thrust him into the wall hard enough to shake the punching bag. The Shadowhunter gasped as he fell and staggered but landed on his feet.

               “If you want to keep antagonizing me,” Alec panted, “then I will decimate you.”

               Declan seemed to realize he was serious and put his hands to shoulder height in a sign of defeat. Alec let his hand fall.

               “So what’s wrong with you?” Declan asked again.

               “Just working through some things.” Alec picked up a towel he had discarded earlier and rubbed at his face and neck. He had removed his shirt and hoodie again, and was in just his jeans and socks.

               “You and Magnus were on the roof for a while,” Declan said, examining his nails boredly. “Not that it’s any of my business who Little Mag sleeps with.”

               Alec went hot all the way to his toes, but decided to ignore it. He pulled on his shirt and echoed, “Little Mag? Isn’t he older than you?”

               “Yeah, but I’ve always been stronger, faster, taller—so he’s little to me.”

               Alec shrugged, pulling one arm across his chest and stretching his shoulders.

               “I won’t ask a third time,” Declan continued, picking at one nail. “Something’s wrong.”

               “Why do you care?”

               “Because I care about Magnus.” He looked up and they finally made eye contact. “And if you’ve got something to hide, I’d rather know now whether or not it’s going to negatively impact that little sonuvabitch.”

               Alec sighed. “I guess Magnus told you I was born to Shadowhunters.” He looked down at his hands. “Well, I haven’t seen my parents in almost ten years. We’re—going to see them in Idris. I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

_“Are you insinuating that you two were unaware?”_

_“Yes. Apparently we were.”_

“They were part of Valentine’s Circle, or so we’ve been told,” Alec continued. Declan’s shoulders tightened and he set his jaw. The news was obviously a surprise to him. “Magnus wants to confront them.”

               “Not just about that,” Declan continued for him, “but about the fact that two Shadowhunters don’t just _produce_ a warlock.”

               Alec nodded, tightly.

               “Do you want to know?” he asked. “Like—do you _care_ who your sperm-donor is? I know that sounds harsh, but—think about it, Alexander.”

               “Alec,” he corrected him immediately. “My name’s Alec.”

               “Oh. Magnus keeps calling you Alexander.”

               “He does that.”

               “Think about it,” Declan repeated, waving a hand. “Right now, you’ve got a father whom you know and can reach out and touch, and know he’s there. What are you going to do if your father happens to be—just some random Eidolon demon?”

               “Robert Lightwood…has never really been a father to me.” As he said it, Alec began to realize how true it was. “He was never around when I was growing up—he was always in Idris. Jace, Izzy and I kind of—grew up on our own. I mean, there used to be a guy named Hodge who would kind of look after us, but right before I turned ten he was called back to Idris for a hearing of some sort. After that, I never saw him again. We all assumed he was dead. But even _he_ was more present for things in my life than Robert was.”

               “What about your mother?”

               “Maryse Lightwood,” Alec said with a quiet sigh. The stern woman with the long dark hair and the stony eyes stared at him from his memory, violent and scary from the eyes of a twelve-year-old. “She is not my mother. She hated me from the second I developed my mark. She hated that I wasn’t the perfect son she always wanted.”

               Declan nodded. “Can’t say I know where you’re coming from, but I understand your discomfort, reluctance—whatever. I think the only way to settle your mind—and your stomach—is to face it.”

               Alec wanted to shake his head but couldn’t.

               “It’s like a nightmare.” Declan shifted his weight. “The only way to escape the nightmare is to wake up. When you wake up, your mind is buzzing with it, so much that your hands shake and your palms sweat. But the only way to get back to sleep is to look it in the face and say, ‘hey, fucker, I know you’re not real. I know you’re not waiting outside my door. I know I’m safe now’, and you can fall back to sleep.”

               Shockingly, that made sense to Alec. He sighed and chuckled a little.

               “You know, I want to hate you,” he told Declan.

               “Hey, I wanna hate you too, but Magnus won’t let me,” the Shadowhunter replied. Alec’s phone rang and he pulled it from his jeans, glancing at the screen. It was a text from Magnus.

               _I’ve opened the Portal to Idris. Come to the library. Everyone else is here._

 

Alec stared into the swirling blue mass with his hands sunk into the pockets of his heavy coat. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, probably since he had never been to Idris, but the ball of trepidation in his stomach was heavy as ever.

               Sara had Magnus in a tight hug. Niall was smiling and waiting his turn. Declan stood a bit away, but caught Alec’s eye and inched around his mother to come beside the warlock.

               “Feeling okay?” he asked, his face unusually soft. Even the short two days that Alec had known the Shadowhunter, he was beginning to realize that softness wasn’t something that came naturally to him.

               “I dunno,” Alec said with a sigh. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about facing it, but I don’t want to. Sure, I want to know why Maryse lied to us and why she slept with a demon…”

               “To be fair,” Declan said quietly, “the demon probably tricked her. She probably didn’t know until you were born or later.”

               From anyone else, Alec would have gotten angry at this, but he knew that Declan was just saying what he thought. No sugar-coating. Another thing he had realized was that this boy was quite blunt.

               “You’re right.” He looked up at the spiraling ceiling. Behind him, Magnus and Niall laughed. “How did she—how did her angelic runes not—fry the demon inside me, though?”

               Declan shook his head. It had him stumped too.

               A hand landed on Alec’s shoulder. He jerked in surprise and spun. Magnus had one finely traced eyebrow cocked.

               “You ready?” he said, holding out a hand. Alec looked at Declan. He wanted to say other things, but the Shadowhunter seemed to understand and jerked his head in a nod, his icy exterior reassumed.

               “Call me, Mags,” he said, looking down at his nails. Magnus turned away from Alec and suddenly pulled Declan into a hug. Alec’s insides twisted like a dragon. Declan froze, stiff as a board as Magnus’ arms wrapped around his neck and he pressed his head into the crook between his shoulder and neck.

               After a pause, he shut his wide eyes and wrapped his arms around Magnus’ ribs, just below his shoulders. The two Shadowhunters stood like that for a moment before Declan put his lips to Magnus’ ear and whispered something. Magnus smiled and released Declan. It was such a tender, sad smile that the dragon inside Alec’s stomach circled and snarled fury.

               “I’ll keep in touch this time,” he said. Declan stepped back, looking at Alec. When Magnus’ back was turned, Declan mouthed, _Take care of him_.

               Alec nodded once. The dragon settled, growling quietly. Magnus held out his hand again. Alec gripped his forearm, and felt the Shadowhunter’s calloused hand do the same. His nerves alit with fire.

               “To Idris,” Magnus said with a smile. Alec couldn’t return it.

               “To Idris,” in a completely different tone. With final farewells, Magnus stepped through the Portal and pulled Alec with him. The icy plunge was warmer than the fear that seized Alec’s insides and clawed at them. He held his breath until they both landed on crunching, icy grass. Alec looked up.

               Touching the sky with a massive claw was a huge city in the distance, separated from them only by a plain turned white with frost. He saw a flock of birds soar away into the trees as a bell began tolling very distantly.

               “Welcome to Idris, home sweet home,” Magnus said with a heavy sigh.


	10. Hell Hath No Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I'M GARBAGE
> 
> Okay so I have an excuse for why this chapter is like 3 weeks late. I'm in 4H and I've been really busy with animals and projects and shit (for those of you who don't know what 4H is [is it just an America thing?] Wikipedia has a good article on it). So.
> 
> FORESEEN HIATUS: Next week (7/14) and the week after (7/21), No chapters will be posted. Those dates start and end my county fair week and I will have NO time to write.
> 
> I don't own any of the superheroes mentioned in this chapter, nor do I own Shadowhunters.
> 
> WARNINGS: Contains slightly out of character Robert, but I needed someone who didn't suck as much as Maryse. So.

Alicante was beautiful.

               Alec couldn’t stop staring around at the ancient stone-faced buildings and the Shadowhunters that wandered the streets. Ancient, almost Victorian-era lamps lined the streets, full of witchlight. The streets were cobblestone, multi-colored and stark against the white sidewalks, all iced with frost. Why they had sidewalks but few to no vehicles, he wasn’t sure.

               He felt a slight pull at the base of his spine, like the Wards still weren’t sure whether or not to kick him out. Maybe it was his half-Shadowhunter blood that didn’t fry him. He wasn’t very sure how the Wards worked.

               “Our house is a few blocks over,” Magnus said, pulling Alec back to the present. His chin was held high and his shoulders were back. He exuded confidence and Alec envied him.

               They walked past a Shadowhunter man who nodded and murmured, “Lightwood,” to Magnus. Magnus nodded back and replied, “Raventree.”

               Alec caught a barely muttered word as the man walked past—a not very kind word that started with a ‘fa’ sound and ended on a hard ‘t’. The warlock clenched his hands and hurried to Magnus’ side.

               “Did you hear what that man called you?” he hissed. Magnus shrugged.

               “If he called me what I presume he did,” he replied, “then I’m no stranger to it. Many of the Shadowhunters here think that of me. They’re very traditional and don’t like the fact that I wear makeup.”

               Alec frowned. His own heart stung from the insult. “Do you not even fight it?”

               “Why should I?” He turned piercing green-gold eyes on Alec’s face. “What would that solve? Then they would call me those names as well as hot-headed and violent.”

               The warlock glanced over his shoulder. He wished _he_ would have said something.

               “I know who I am,” Magnus continued, holding out an arm to stop Alec as two small children raced by, holding training staves and shrieking with laughter. “And I am confident in who I am. Why should I let what others think of me get under my skin?”

               Alec looked down at his feet. “You sound like Adal,” he said, trying to sound light. “He always sounds so wise.”

               “Only a fool thinks he is wise. A wise man knows he’s a fool,” Magnus replied with a laugh. They turned a corner and Magnus’ smile fell. He drew to a halt. “Our house is at the end of this block.”

               Row after row of towering houses, owned by the more famous or powerful Shadowhunter families, lined the street. The sun was creeping toward the horizon at the end of the street in a chilly sunset. He glanced at Magnus and saw his hair falling toward his face. He hadn’t gelled it that morning and the black locks his hid eyes. Alec psychically reached out and felt the trepidation clouding his psyche.

               Alec’s heart ached. He reached out without thinking and gripped Magnus’ hand in his gloved one, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Magnus shot him a startled look that lasted half a second, and Alec suddenly realized what he was doing. Embarrassment rushed through him and he opened his mouth to apologize, but Magnus just turned away and gave him a squeeze back, tighter, before releasing his hand.

               Alec swallowed hard as Magnus began walking again. His hand burned like fire and his nerves were on edge. He coughed weakly, rubbing the back of his neck, and hurried to catch up.

               “So—ah—how long’s it been since you saw them?” he asked awkwardly, trying to forget that exchange had happened. His heart was slamming into his ribs so hard he was sure Magnus could hear it.

               “Two months or so,” he replied. “They’ve been in Idris forever working on the Valentine case.” His own cheeks were pink and he had buttoned his coat up to his chin. Alec hoped the blush was from the cold.

               He wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t find anything. He sunk his hands in his pockets and burrowed his chin into the thick white and black scarf until the fuzz tickled his nose. He was glad he had let Magnus talk him into bringing the old gift.

               Magnus slowed to a stop. “Here we are.”

               Alec looked up.

               The house looked like the Lightwoods. It was old and faded, a very ancient kind of stonework Alec had seen in Berlin the last time he had vacationed there with Ragnor and Catarina. Pillars stood along a tall porch, framing a heavy oak door with a brass knocker in the shape of a flaming torch. Alec could see, through one of the thin, gauzy curtains, a pair of shapes moving in what he supposed was a foyer.

               “Are you ready?” Alec asked, putting a hand on Magnus’ shoulder to hide his own anxieties. Magnus inhaled, nodded sharply, and wordlessly strode to the door. Alec felt like he might vomit. He hung a few paces back as Magnus cupped the knocker in one manicured hand. He closed his eyes and swung it up, letting it fall against the door. The sound seemed to reverberate in Alec’s skull like a church bell.

               The figures stiffened and one turned for the door. Muffled voices ensued and both disappeared. There was a soft click like a lock and the door swung open. There stood Maryse Lightwood, all tight ponytail and cold face and—shock at seeing her adoptive son.

               “Magnus!” she exclaimed, and Robert appeared over her shoulder. His face lit up as he saw Magnus.

               “Son, what are you doing here?” he said, edging past his wife and embracing the Shadowhunter. He hugged Robert back silently and put his mouth to his ear, whispering something. Robert’s brow furrowed and he looked up—

               Alec swallowed and raised a hand in an awkward little half-wave. “Robert.”

               “Alexander.” The Shadowhunter’s word was hardly a gasp and he released Magnus. Alec was pretty sure he was dreaming. His father took two long strides and suddenly he was hugging Alec. The warlock stiffed and couldn’t find the strength to hug him back. Robert finally released him and held him at arm’s length, his eyes glowing in the setting sun.

               “What are you doing here?” he repeated, smiling slightly.

               “What are _you_ doing here?” Maryse echoed in a very different tone. “Magnus Demetrius, what have you done, bringing a warlock into the city?”

               “Your son,” Magnus and (shockingly) Robert corrected her.

               “I told you I never wanted to see you again,” Maryse hissed. “And the nerve of you waltzing right into the heart of Shadowhunter politics—”

               Alec drew himself up to full height. He felt his magic sizzle in his stomach in response to his fear and anger. For a split second, his vision sharpened and Maryse took a wary step back as his warlock mark flashed. Alec knew how it looked--his cat eyes suddenly glowing with an ethereal magic light. It had startled him in the mirror more than once. 

               “I don’t think you have jurisdiction over where I do and do not go,” Alec said. His heart was throbbing and his palms were sweating; he hoped his nerves weren’t as obvious as they felt.

               “Why are you with this warlock?” Maryse demanded of Magnus, turning on her adoptive son instead.

               “Why don’t we go inside and talk about this?” Robert said, glancing across the street. Alec followed his gaze and saw a Shadowhunter woman staring at them through her window. Maryse seemed to value her reputation more than Alec recalled, and merely turned and stalked back inside. Magnus couldn’t look at Alec, ducked his head, and followed. The door swung shut.

               Alec turned away in disgust. Robert put his hand on Alec’s shoulder.

               “You’ve changed,” Alec burst out, ducking away. “I mean, I’m not _complaining_ , but what’s the deal? You rejected me with Maryse when I was twelve!”

               Robert looked away. “I was—wrong all those years ago, Alexander. I was. I just realized it far, far too late. I understand if you can’t forgive me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.” He put his hands in the pockets of his battlegear jeans. “You are and will always be my firstborn son.

               “You have to understand, it was a turbulent time for Maryse and I. She was pregnant, and Valentine had just risen to the height of his power. We were banished to New York and our house here was almost seized.” He leaned against one of the pillars. “I’ve heard you’re a fairly influential voice in the Downworld now.”

               “Depends on who you talk to.” Alec busied himself with rolling an orb of blue magic across his knuckles. “Don’t change the subject.”

               “You’ve grown a lot.” Robert gave him a sad smile. “You still look so young, but your eyes…they’ve gotten so old. You’ve had such a hard lot, Alexander. I’m so, so sorry.”

               Alec looked up at the second story. He could see that night in the rain, when the Institute’s door slammed in his face and he was on the street. He could see that night, Ragnor dying in his arms. He could see Maddox Pride’s face, the shock when he heard about the Circle.

               “I went to the meeting of the High Warlock Council this weekend,” Alec began, quietly. He could see a tiny figure running around in a room illuminated by witchlight. He wondered dimly if that was Max. “I spoke to the Council Head—an old friend of mine, Maddox Pride.”

               Recognition is one of the hardest emotions to hide. Not even Robert could hide it completely. He turned away instead.

               “Maddox told us he knew you.”

               “I assume he also told you we were Circle members.” Robert ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. It came out in a thick white cloud. “You must understand.”

               “What is there to understand?” Alec clenched his fist and the orb exploded in a burst of hot white sparks. “No—No, you’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you could side with a raving _psychopath_!”

               Robert nodded slowly, toeing at the ground. “At first, he wasn’t a psychopath. He was a vocal young Shadowhunter with a plan for the better. We all were. Valentine was, and still is, amazing at making speeches, at persuading people. He told us we were hunting down Downworlders who had broken the Accords. That we were doing the Shadow World a favor.” He looked up. “We thought we were. We were just children, Alexander. Not much older than you or Magnus or Jace and Izzy are.

               “Maryse was pregnant when we launched an attack on a group of werewolves. We were told they were Upworlder killers. Of course, they weren’t. Ragnor Fell stepped in. Saved the werewolves. We fought—and we fought hard. The Whitelaws were on Ragnor’s side.”

               “The Whitelaws,” Alec echoed quietly. Around them, witchlight streetlights began to flicker to life. “Didn’t they man the Institute before you and Maryse took over?”

               Robert smiled forlornly. “The Whitelaws were good people. The last stand of the New York Institute was against Valentine’s crew.” His smile faded. “That was the last raid Maryse and I went on. We left after that, and went to the Clave begging forgiveness. Instead of stripping us of our Marks, they banished us to New York, which is why we don’t live here permanently. We still hold residence here because of Magnus being on the Accords Council as well as both of us being Conclave members. We were safe in New York, safe to raise our firstborn child.”

               Alec nodded slowly. “She was pregnant with me.”

               Robert took a slow breath. “Alexander, there’s something else you must know.” He finally met Alec’s eye, for the first time since Magnus and Maryse had left. “About your—your real father.”

 

As soon as the door had shut, Maryse had all but dragged Magnus into the dining room and rounded on him.

               “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “You have endangered our reputation here by bringing a warlock to my home, by barging in uninvited, and Max is upstairs!” She gestured wildly toward the staircase. “You have endangered _him_.”

               “Alec isn’t _dangerous!_ Don’t talk about him like he’s some sort of rabid _animal_ ,” Magnus snapped. “I have brought your _son_ home because we need to talk about something that you’ve hidden from us.”

               She didn’t falter. Her face was alight with a new kind of rage that Magnus hadn’t seen before. It scared him a little. She took a step forward and he instinctively took one back. Although she had never struck him, old habits died hard, he supposed.

               “I’ve hidden?” she echoed. “Why not talk about why you’ve been hiding that you’ve been galivanting around with someone I explicitly said was never to have contact with the family again!”

               “I am not a child!” Magnus exclaimed. His hands were shaking and he was seized with a sudden urge to pull at his shirtsleeves. Suddenly sweating, he shucked off his coat and tossed it carelessly over a chair. His voice rising, he continued; “You don’t get to talk down to me and tell me who I can and cannot hang around!”

               “Hush up,” she snapped, glancing furtively toward the stairs. “Max is asleep.”

               “No!” he clamored, pointing toward the wall that faced the street. “Alexander is a good, kind person—”

               “He has brought shame to our family—”

               “By doing _what?_ Being _born?_ ” Magnus laughed. It was a high, crazed, derisive sound. It was Maryse’s turn to take a retreating step, alarmed. “And that’s another thing! Two Shadowhunters don’t just _make_ a warlock! Who’s the daddy, Maryse? It isn’t Robert!”

               “Shut up!” Maryse shouted, her face reddening in anger. Struggling to control her temper, she growled, “What I do and do not speak about with my husband is no concern of yours, Magnus Lightwood. You would do well to hold your tongue.” Her eyes kept darting toward the stairs. That infuriated Magnus. Was Alec some big secret she was keeping from Max?

               “And what of it? What about Robert? Have you told him?” Magnus shouted, not caring who heard him. Maryse’s icy face faltered slightly.  It was the kind of falter that one got when one's deepest, darkest secret had been brought to light by someone they thought was still in the dark. Magnus played off of that. “Judging by the look you’ve got, you haven’t! You and I both know that Robert is not Alec’s father! If he hasn’t figured it out by now, he’s even dumber than you!”

               “Magnus Demetrius, you keep your voice down,” she hissed. “We are surrounded by very important people—”

               “I will not,” Magnus growled, although he did lower his tone. “What are you going to tell Max, huh? What will you tell him when he gets older and starts asking why his brother is half demon?”

               “You were never like this,” Maryse said, coldly. “You were never like this until you started hanging out with that—that Downworlder—”

               “With your son, you mean!” Magnus’ head was spinning. He pressed a hand to his forehead and leaned his shoulder against the wall. He hadn’t eaten much that morning for his anxiety, and he hadn’t even thought about food or drink since they landed in Idris.

               “His being my son would insinuate that he is Max’s brother,” Maryse replied. “I will not let him corrupt my little boy. Look at Jace and Isabelle. They grew up without that warlock around and they turned out just fine. You did, too, until you two became ‘friends’.” The word dripped venom.

               “Does Max even know Alec exists?” Magnus demanded through his headache, dropping his hand back to his side.

               “It is for his own good that he does not.”

               _Lies_ , Magnus thought. At least she was still in the dark about the stories and things that Isabelle and Jace had told the little boy about his big brother.

               “The kind of people that would lie to one child after abandoning the other are not people I would want to be related to,” Magnus replied instead. “And I feel awful for Max for being raised in a household like this one.”

               Maryse looked suddenly crushed. Magnus knew he had gone too far, but the devil on his shoulder told him that she deserved it. So he turned his back and said, “I’m going to go see my little brother. When Alexander and Robert come inside, please tell them I’m upstairs and they’re free to join me.”

               With each step throbbing in his head, Magnus ascended the stairs. Maryse didn’t make any move to stop him.

 

Alec and Robert passed over the threshold a few minutes later, Alec’s head spinning for an entirely different reason. Robert put a hand lightly on his shoulder and murmured, “Wait here for a minute.”

               He headed off down the hallway and into a side room, leaving Alec alone. He didn’t mind—it gave him some time to collect his thoughts.

               That explained why his body was able to withstand the Shadowhunter runes; he had the blood of a Greater Demon racing through his veins. He leaned back against the door and let his head fall back against it. Even the Silent Brothers couldn’t pinpoint what demon it was. He became painfully aware of the throbbing of his heartbeat.

               Then he wondered where Magnus was. And that made his heart beat faster.

               Robert came back toward Alec holding two bottles of water. He held them both out and said, “Magnus is upstairs with Max. First room on the right. You can go on up.”

               “What about—Maryse?” Alec muttered as he took the water and drained half of one in a single go. “And also, do you have any alcohol?”

               He laughed. “Angel, do I wish we did.” Then stony-faced Robert was back and he murmured, “Don’t worry about her. She’ll come around. From what I heard, she and Magnus got into it. I assume he won by how upset she is.”

               Alec wondered if that should make him feel something. It didn’t.

               “You two can stay the night since it’s so late,” Robert continued, “but I don’t think it would be good for you to stay any longer. As much as I hate to say it, Maryse was right—a warlock in the city, especially with how tense things are between us and the Downworld, is probably not the best idea.”

               Alec nodded. He could see the sense in that. He itched to tell Robert about the nearly unanimous vote at the Warlock Council, to stand with Idris, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He would tell Jace and Izzy and let them decide what to do with the information.

               “There is a spare room next to Max’s; that can be yours tonight,” he finished. He patted Alec on the shoulder. “I… I missed you, Alexander.”

               Alec smiled emptily, but couldn’t return the comment. He nodded awkwardly and edged past Robert, heading slowly up the stairs. He could hear muffled voices as he ascended, and finally stopped in front of a door with the name _Max_ carved into it with some kind of blade. He leaned forward, feeling like an intruder, and rested his forehead against the door. The voices became clearer the harder he focused.

               “…and this is _The Amazing Spiderman!_ ” a boy was saying in a very lecturer-esque tone. “It’s one of my favorites—an oldie but a goodie!”

               Magnus’ clear laugh followed. “I never thought I’d hear you use that phrase, Max.”

               “Well, it _is_!” There was some shuffling. “Let me show you my favorite comic book _ever!_ ” More shuffling. “Here it is!”

               “And who is that?”

               “That’s Superman! He’s an alien from the planet Krypton. This is issue 10 of _All-Star Superman_ ; see, in it—”

               “Max, dear, I’m gonna have to cut you off there,” Magnus interrupted. “There’s someone outside I want you to meet.”

               “How can you tell?” Max replied.

               “You remember the Hearing rune I taught you last time?” He laughed. “It’s this one. I put it on before I came in so I could hear what was going on downstairs over your chattering.”

               Alec raised his head as the door opened inwards. Magnus’ green-gold eyes peered at him and he mouthed, _What’s wrong?_

               Alec mutely shook his head. He was suddenly nervous. Holding his breath, he nodded to Magnus and let the warlock gesture him into the room.

               The bed was unmade, dark-colored bet set tossed carelessly around. The walls were covered in sketches of runes as well as posters of superheroes that he recognized faintly from Ragnor’s collection of vintage comic books—Superman, Spiderman, Iron Man, Wonder Woman, Batman and Joker, that guy he couldn’t remember the name of from Watchman—and comic books were scattered around on the desk and the floor. A little boy with blue eyes and black hair that looked alarmingly like Alec was standing by the desk, clutching a comic in his Marked hands. He looked up at the warlock and then at Magnus.

               “Who’s this?” he asked. Alec’s heart began to pound harder and he wanted to turn and run.

               Magnus pressed a hand to Alec’s shoulder blade and gave him a nudge. “Who does he look like?”

               Max peered at him. “You look like my sister and I.”

               Alec shot a look full of several emotions at Magnus, the most prevalent being trepidation. Magnus nodded encouragingly. He took a deep, shaking breath and another uneven step forward.

               “Max—” Alec knelt down, hands shaking. The little blue-eyed boy looked at him, his eyes darting from Magnus to Alec and back. “Max. My name—I’m Alexander. Alec. Your brother.”


	11. Tension Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I could say that this chapter is two days early, but it's literally like a month late and I'm really really sorry. College is hard. But I'm here now!
> 
> This one's for you Kareeree!
> 
> Reviews are love! And maybe I'll soon learn to not procrastinate if I get enough? *gets shot for begging for likes* My bad, my bad.
> 
> This one is a little shorter, but I was afraid if I didn't break it here, what I have planned to spiral on from here would be another like four or five pages in Word. So this is really good for you guys? Cos...the next chapter is coming soon? Give me some credit XD
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy!
> 
> I own none of Shadowhunters.

               Max looked up at him and pushed his glasses back up his nose, where they’d begun to slip. “You’re Alec?” he repeated softly.

               Alec could only nod once. Magnus put a hand on Max’s shoulder and knelt as well.

               “Your brother,” he repeated, but Max cut him off.

               “Izzy said you’d be taller.”

               Alec’s mouth fell open a little. Magnus burst out into startled laughter and landed hard on his backside on the floor. His laughs rang around the room and Max smiled, shoulders shaking as well.

               Alec opened and shut his mouth like a fish out of water, struggling to find what to say. Magnus was clutching his stomach and gasping for air. Max began to giggle, putting a hand over his mouth.

               “I swear, I didn’t tell him to say that,” Magnus gasped, still chuckling.

               “He didn’t,” Max confirmed. “Izzy did make me think you’d be taller.”

               Alec stood up and drew himself up. “That’s all you have to say?” he said, but his voice was light. “How old are you?”

               “Thirteen,” he said with a grin. “Magnus says I still act like I’m eight.”

               Alec, still a good couple of heads taller than the boy, reached out and ruffled his hair. “You’re the size of an eight-year-old.”

               Max ducked away with a laugh. Then his smile fell and he glanced around. “Do—Mom and Dad know you’re here? I know I’m not supposed to know about you. Izzy told me that, too.”

               Magnus’ humor faded. He rose to his knees and then to his feet. “Don’t worry about that,” he began to say, but Max shot him a look.

               “I’m not a child,” he said defensively. “I want to know.” He looked back at Alec, setting his comic back on his desk. “Can you really do magic?”

               Alec smiled and held out a hand. Sparks flickered at his fingertips and then burst into life, spiraling up into bright blue butterflies. Max’s face lit up and he reached up to grab one. It fluttered down and landed on his finger.

               “It’s so warm,” he said in surprise, bringing it to his nose to peer at it. It vanished along with the rest as Alec let the magic fade. Max looked delighted.

               “That’s so cool,” he breathed. Then he broke into a grin. “You wanna see my comic books?”

               Magnus and Alec exchanged an amused look, as if to say _he’s still a kid_.

               “Sure do,” Alec replied, sitting himself on the edge of Max’s bed while Magnus turned his attention to the bookshelf against the far wall. Watching this little boy, so excited about comic books and with such little concern for the demon world, Alec once again found himself resenting Maryse and Robert from keeping his family from him all this time.

               But it was fine now. Alec let his gaze wander to Magnus. He had a Shadowhunter he could easily call his close friend, Jace and Izzy and Catarina, all of whom were his family, and now he had Max too.

 

It was several large stacks of books later when they finally managed to convince Max to go to bed. Magnus and Alec wandered into the guest room. It only had one king bed, but both boys were far too exhausted to care much. Alec swapped his clothes for a pair of gray fuzzy pajama pants and a black tee with a quick snap, and kept his back turned as Magnus changed.

               “So,” the Shadowhunter began as Alec sat down heavily on the bed. “You and Robert were talking for a while. Did you…find anything out?”

               Alec sprawled out on the bed, closing his eyes. He felt the coolness of the untouched comforter on the back of his neck and it made him shiver a little. “I found out…who my father is.”

               “Really? Oh, Alexander, that’s wonderful!” Magnus spun around, once again wearing a tight tank top, this one electric blue. His green-gold eyes shone.

               “Is it?” he replied dryly, feeling his innards shiver at the boy’s enunciated good-looking body. “Let me find his name and I'll get back to you on that.”

               Magnus’ expression shifted slightly. It didn’t quite fall, but it was close. “It was—a demon with a name?” His voice was softer.

               “Not just that. A Greater Demon,” Alec replied. He sighed and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

               “That explains why your magic is so strong,” Magnus mused. “ _And_ that explains why Maryse’s body didn’t burn you alive—no offense,” he added quickly.

               Alec was no longer listening. With his hands pressed into his eyes, all he could see was the darkness and the pictures his mind stamped against it. He had no idea what his father was supposed to look like. What did a Prince of Hell look like? Did he wear a crown? Was he bigger than all the other demons? Was he revered?

               Was he one of the highest ranked angels who was discarded? Thrown out of Heaven by the Creator, disgusted by what he had made, who feared his own angel? Who was afraid it would corrupt the rest of the innocent little white-winged children?

               “And I saw Satan fall,” Alec mumbled, “like lightning from Heaven.”

               “What?” Magnus asked. He had begun to move around the room in his excitement, but stopped now. “What is it, Alexander?” The bed dipped as he sat down. Alec removed his hands, blinking a few times to focus. Magnus was leaning over him. His dark hair fell around his eyes and made his olive skin look darker. His plush lips were slightly pursed and his eyes were wide.

               Alec’s heart jumped. His head spun and his breath caught. Magnus was so pretty. He felt the sudden urge to either cry, or punch something or—

               Or—

               Oh, what the hell.

               Alec lunged upward. He gripped both his hands deep into Magnus’ hair, and the Shadowhunter gave a startled gasp, cut off as Alec jerked him down and pressed their lips together.

               Okay, _maybe_ it wasn’t the best reaction Alec could have had to—anything, really. And it wasn’t very well thought out—as it was, they were roughly at a ninety-degree angle to each other, and since it was Alec’s first kiss, he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

               But the electricity that spun through Alec’s whole body from the touch made him care infinitely less than he had ever before.

               Magnus was stiff at first, but he relaxed after a moment and his hands found Alec’s hair as well. Alec’s lips parted at the strange sensation of the soft fingertips on his skull and Magnus took that as an invitation to let his tongue touch the other’s lips.

               Then the Shadowhunter pulled back, and all of Alec’s anxiety returned with the force of a freight train slamming into his ribs.

               _By the Angel, I fucked up._

               That was all he could form and he stared, wide eyed, at Magnus.

               “Alexander,” Magnus said softly. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were lidded. His hair was messed, pulled from its careful quiff in Alec’s carelessness.

               Any number of things tried to form in Alec’s jumbled mind. He gaped like a fish and felt his face getting hot. To his utter embarrassment, he saw his vision start to swim with tears.

               “I had no idea,” Magnus murmured, smiling slowly, “that you at _all_ felt the same way.”

               _What??_

               Alec stared at his blurry figure. He felt the moisture escape and trail down one temple.

               “Why are you crying? Alexander, what’s wrong?” Magnus gasped. Embarrassed, Alec bolted upright and backhanded his eyes.

               “I’m sorry—” he coughed out, unsure if he was really about to break down like a child.

               “What’s wrong? Alexander—Alec.” Magnus scooted across the bed and sat down beside him, placing a hand on his leg absently and using the other to catch a tear off his cheek. “What on Earth?”

               “I’m _sorry!_ ” Alec shouted, caught up in emotion. He wasn’t sure if he was angry or upset. He wasn’t sure of much, anymore. “Magnus, I—” Unable to find the words, he stared desperately at the Shadowhunter. _Why can’t I breathe?_

               Alec dimly realized he was on the verge of a panic attack, and he began coughing and his breathing sped up, becoming short and shallow. He felt like he did the night Ragnor died.

               “Alexander, breathe,” Magnus cut into his thought train, his green-gold eyes calm as he placed both hands on Alec’s shoulders. “Look at me and breathe.” The Shadowhunter took a long inhale through his nose, eyebrows raised.

               It took a lot of coaxing and some staggered breathing, but Alec’s heart finally slowed. He took a deep breath and looked away from the Shadowhunter’s contoured face and saw his hands were clutching the other’s forearms. He released his death grip and saw some faint bruising where his fingertips were, blending in with the Marks and scars.

               “I’m…sorry,” he said, wiping one cheek off on his t-shirt sleeve. Magnus’ soft, lightly callused hand brushed across the other.

               “What was that about?” he asked gently. “Most people who kiss me don’t have _that_ reaction,” he joked lightly.

               “I—just—” Alec took in a long breath. “I’ve had a lot of things that I’ve been mulling over that I just haven’t…” He made some awkward gesture with his hands, away from his chest. Magnus nodded.

               “Ever since Ragnor’s death, I’ve been…thinking,” Alec said. “Not about anything in particular. I never…admitted that I was…” He hated the word. He swallowed and mumbled, “That I’m gay.”

               He had a sudden thought of the Shadowhunter that afternoon, swearing under his breath at Magnus behind his back.

               “Ragnor knew,” Alec continued, fumbling with the edge of his t-shirt. “I don’t know how he knew, but I guess he did. I had a dream after the Warlock Council meeting and—well, long story short, I’ve been…fighting…myself for a long time.” He paused. “And then today, hearing what that Shadowhunter called you already set me on edge, paired with what I learned about who I am. About… _what_ I am.”

               “Oh, Alexander, don’t say it like that,” Magnus insisted, gripping Alec’s hand in both of his. The warlock paused for a moment before nervously returning the pressure. Magnus smiled softly.

               “Well, either way—and there’s the fact that my little brother—that Max is being brought up in a poisonous household.”

               “He has Jace and Izzy,” Magnus soothed.

               “What the fuck are Jace and Izzy able to do when they’re in Brooklyn and Max is at the Academy here with those—monsters?”

               Magnus mutely shook his head.

               “And I just—I was either going to cry or…do _that_.” He gestured between them with his free hand. “And I guess…I did that.” He smiled awkwardly.

               “To be fair, Alexander, you did both,” the warlock replied with just as awkward of a smile. Then both boys chuckled.

               “You know,” Magnus said quietly, still smiling. “You could have made the kiss a little—smoother. I’m pretty sure you almost broke my nose.”

               “I’m pretty sure I nearly broke a tooth on your skull,” Alec shot back.

               “Let’s give it a second go, huh?” Magnus murmured, raising the hand that wasn’t palm-to-palm with Alec’s and cupping the warlock’s cheek. It was warm and soft, and a very foreign feeling. Alec swallowed and his face flushed again.

               The Shadowhunter paused for a moment, searching Alec’s face, but when the warlock didn’t pull back, he leaned in, eyelashes fluttering, and kissed him again, very tenderly.

               This one was warm and soft and the smell of sandalwood filled his nose. Alec moved his arms around Magnus’ neck. The Shadowhunter’s thumb caressed his cheek and his other hand went to the small of Alec’s back.

               Once his head was spinning for air, Alec pulled apart and leaned his forehead against Magnus’. He felt like an insane amount of weight had lifted off of his chest. Magnus was here, and he felt the same way, and he _felt the same way_ , and that’s all that mattered.

 

It was midnight when Alec finally realized he wasn’t going to sleep.

               Magnus was sound asleep and they were laying pressed against each other. Magnus had put one arm across Alec’s torso with his head against the other’s shoulder. Alec’s arm was under Magnus’ neck and around to rest on his side. With a little bit of wriggling, Alec managed to detangle himself and rise without waking the Shadowhunter.

               _Let him sleep_ , he told himself. _He’s had a long day too._

               He turned and let himself quietly out of the bedroom, using a touch of magic to silence the latch falling back into place as he shut the door. He passed Max’s room and saw witchlight seeping from under the door. He smiled, guessing the boy was awake reading.

               Alec slipped silently downstairs and peered out the window in the front room. Alicante was silent, with only the witchlight lamps to eerily light the empty cobblestone streets.

               He turned away and decided to find the kitchen and get himself a drink—and maybe snap up a snack, since he hadn’t eaten most of that day. Maybe it was the jet lag between London and Alicante, but he felt like he hadn’t had time to eat at all. Breakfast at the London Institute felt like years ago.

               He saw a light in the foyer and peeked in as he passed. He wished he hadn’t.

               Maryse caught sight of him and rose to her feet from where she was sitting in a chair by the window. “Alexander. I believe we need to talk,” she said crisply.


	12. And I Saw Satan Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hollup. Collaborate and Listen, Bane is back with a regularly scheduled update because she's finally gotten her shit together enough to keep writing.
> 
> Now I know this chapter ends very nice and concisely but DON'T WORRY IT ISN'T OVER
> 
> I don't own Shadowhunters~!
> 
> ALSO I FORGOT: I want to give a HUGE shoutout to everyperfectsummer and Pri_Chan1410 for being such amazing readers! They've commented on almost every chapter and I'm always so excited to see their names pop up on my chapters! Thank you guys so much for your continued support, go check them out :D

               Maryse caught sight of him and rose to her feet from where she was sitting in a chair by the window. “Alexander. I believe we need to talk,” she said crisply.

               Alec swallowed to hide his nervousness and drew himself up. “I don’t believe we do,” he replied. “In fact, I don’t think we’ve ever had anything to say to each other, not since I was twelve, not yesterday, and certainly not now.”

               She didn’t seem to like that answer. “Robert has informed me that I…may have overreacted this evening,” she said, her voice tight and lips pressed thin. Alec’s eyebrows raised. Was he about to get an apology?

               “But that does not excuse you waltzing into my house uninvited, thinking you would be welcome in the heart of the Shadowhunter homeland,” she continued sharply, “and throwing yourselves upon the mercy of my family.”

               “I knew it was too good to last,” he muttered to himself, rolling his eyes. Raising his voice, he said, “Listen, if we aren’t welcome, Magnus and I will go. But before we go, I have one question and only one question for you.”

               “What is it?” she snapped.

               “My father,” Alec said, crossing his arms. “I want to know who it was.”

               _“After you were born, Alexander,” Robert said, “we had a faint inkling that something wasn’t right. Things would go wrong. When you threw tantrums, lights would go out. When you laughed, sometimes you would make things float, like your books and toys. There was one time—I don’t know if you recall—when you and Jace were little, he took your bear and wouldn’t give it back. You were crying and ran up to push him, and you knocked him about five or six feet through the air. All the glass in your room--windows, mirrors, lights--shattered when it happened._

_“No Shadowhunter would have that kind of strength. Things continued until you were about nine, and we took you to Alicante to get your first Marks. We had a meeting set up with the Silent Brothers, and they… Well, I’m not quite sure what they did. We weren’t allowed to go in with you._

_“They came and told us that you were…not a Shadowhunter. You can imagine how Maryse reacted. She insisted that you were, that we were your parents and there was no way. But Brother Enoch was kind, and he didn’t blame us. He said they had found demon blood in you, and that the only way that Maryse and you were both healthy during the pregnancy was if it was a Greater Demon. He said that Greater Demons have more power than just their Eidolon cohorts, and so their powers of illusion are stronger.”_

_“So this Greater Demon would have…” Alec struggled for words. “It would have taken…_ your _form to trick Maryse? Why?”_

_“Why do demons do anything?” Robert replied, shrugging. “The point is, Alexander, even a Greater Demon wouldn’t have been able to create an offspring that would survive a Shadowhunter’s body. Brother Enoch gave a couple of…theories, let’s say. It would have to be a powerful Greater Demon—as in, an inanely strong one—or a Prince of Hell.”_

_“A…Prince of Hell?”_

_“There’s a lot of theory behind the Princes of Hell,” Robert continued. “The most solid theory is there are seven, classified like the ‘seven deadly sins’. Lucifer fell into this category, and his parallel would be pride.” He looked away for a second before looking back._

_“So…my father…would be on the same level as…Lucifer?” Alec said, barely breathing the sentence._

_“That’s the only theory we…could think of.”_

“Your father?” Maryse asked, her face falling.

               “Robert isn’t my father, I’m not a dimwit,” Alec continued. “Two Shadowhunters don’t just _make_ a warlock. You must have been thinking about it since it happened.” Alec took a deep breath. “Tell me who he is.”

               Her face twisted in sudden anger. “Don’t tell me what I _must have been thinking about_! I made a mistake, Alexander, and that’s all it was, and all it will ever be!”

               Ice began to form in Alec’s chest. He felt like he was going to vomit.

               “A—A _mistake_?” Alec said hoarsely. “You’re going to stand there and look at your—your son and tell him he’s a mistake to his face?”

               Maryse strode forward until they were barely inches apart. Alec refused to move. He wasn’t sure if he would have been able to if he had tried.

               "I only have one son," Maryse whispered. It was a horrible, grating whisper that clawed at Alec's soul and burned his veins like poison. "And it is  _not_  you. And you are no longer welcome in my house.”

               “You can’t be kicking me _out_ right now,” Alec said, pain turning into horrible humor and forcing him to laugh through his agony. “You don’t—get to do that.”

               “I let you meet Max and that was a mistake,” she growled. “I will not make any more mistakes when it comes to my family.”

               Hurt turned into anger.

               “You just don’t want to claim responsibility for what you did!” Alec snapped. “Is it too shameful to admit you made a mistake?”

               “I did that once with Valentine,” she stated, pushing her shoulders back. Alec’s fists clenched. “It’s two strikes you’re out in Shadowhunter politics, Alexander. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

               “I’m not an _idiot!_ ” Alec shouted. His voice rang around the silent house. Blue sparks exploded at his fingertips. The two witchlight lamps settled on the desk shattered with an ear-splitting sound like dropped porcelain. They were plunged into darkness, but Maryse immediately picked one up. White light burst from her fingertips.

               He heard someone start moving around upstairs. Struggling to lower his voice, he hissed, “I gave up your name, I refused to call you Mother and Father at your own discretion, I didn’t set foot back into the only home I had ever known, I didn’t meet my little brother until about six hours ago, and I spent six years away from the rest of my family—” Alec had to stop and take a sharp, shaking breath. “What more do you want me to sacrifice for your damn _pride?_ ”

               _“I know who I am, and I am confident in who I am. Why should I let what others think of me get under my skin?”_

               Maryse stared at him, but her cold expression never wavered. A soft footstep sounded being Alec, and Magnus’ hand cupped his forearm.

               “Alexander?” He stepped around Alexander and looked at his adoptive mother. “Maryse? What’s wrong?”

               “Nothing is wrong, Magnus.” Her gaze never left Alec. “Goodbye, Alexander. I expect you two to be gone by the time I wake up tomorrow. Magnus—your father, Max, and I will be home by the end of the week. I will see you then.” She made it a point to push between the warlock and the Shadowhunter, her muted footsteps disappearing down the hall and then upstairs. A door shut quietly.

               “What happened?” Magnus asked. Alec shook his head mutely, pushing a hand through his hair and continuing his walk for the kitchen. “Alexander?”

               “Do you want a drink?” he muttered, throwing open cabinets until he found one with glasses in it. Magnus flipped a light switch and Alec squinted in the sudden glare. Alec’s hands were shockingly steady as he ran the cold water and held the glass under it. It was almost full before the warlock lifted it and chugged the whole glass. He filled it again and shut the sink off. He put his weight on his forearms over the sink and let his head fall. He felt like he was going to vomit.

               “No, I don’t. What happened?” Magnus repeated, still in the doorway.

               “Am I a mistake?”

               That wasn’t what Alec had wanted to say, but it was what came out. Now his hands began to shake.

               “ _What?_ Alexander, of _course_ you aren’t!” Magnus came up behind the warlock and placed a hand on his back. “Did Maryse say something?”

               Alec shook his head, but Magnus seemed to know.

               “You are _not_ a mistake,” Magnus repeated firmly. “Come now, come here.” He pulled Alec away from the sink and pulled him into a hug. Alec leaned his forehead on the other’s shoulder, unable to do much else. A week ago, this intimate touch would have given Alec so much anxiety that he would have run. Now, he was just grateful for someone who didn’t hate him.

               “ _Why should I let what others think of me get under my skin? I know who I am, and I am confident in who I am.”_

 _Oh Magnus_ , Alec thought, closing his eyes. _I wish I had your confidence._

 

“Max. Max, darling, wake up.”

               The boy groaned and rolled over, fumbling on the desk for his glasses. He found them and his witchlight, squinting up into the darkness. “Magnus?” he whispered hoarsely. He had fallen asleep reading his comics again and had a couple strewn around his bed. One of his copies of _Watchman_ had slid onto the floor.

               “Shh, keep your voice down,” Magnus soothed. “It’s okay. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

               Max struggled upright, blinking groggily. “You’re—leaving? Magnus, it’s the dead of night.”

               “I know,” Magnus said softly. He was crouched the boy’s bed. Max peered at him. He had on full battlegear and a couple seraph blades in his belt. A bow and arrows was strapped across his back. His hair was gelled firmly into place and he had barely any makeup—just mascara and some contour done, from what Max could tell.

               “You look like you’re going into battle!” Max hissed. “What’s happened? And don’t give me that “don’t you worry, Max” because I’m not a child.”

               “I found these in the guest room,” Magnus said by way of answer. “Alec and I just have to make it halfway across the plain again before his magic will work to make another Portal. I didn’t want to take chances.” He twirled his thumbs together. “I didn’t want to get caught by demons unprepared.”

               “Why are you _leaving?_ ” Max demanded.

               Magnus sighed and looked away. “Max, there’s a lot of things going on that you don’t know about,” he said. “Alec is only your half-brother. Since he isn’t a Shadowhunter, Maryse doesn’t like him. Don’t ask me why, I couldn’t tell you. Listen, when…when you get back to New York, I promise I’ll tell you more, when Jace and Izzy are there to help me. I just need you to trust me. Please.”

               Max frowned. He hated being kept in the dark. Magnus _knew_ that! “Magnus,” he began, but his adoptive brother cut him off.

               “Max, _please_ ,” he said, almost desperately. “I just need you to trust me. I’ll tell you when we get back to New York. Okay?”

               “Okay,” he finally resented. “But—be safe.”

               Magnus smiled and pulled his brother into a hug. His shoulders were tense and Max hugged him back, unsure of what else he could do.

               “Love you, squirt,” Magnus whispered in his ear.

               “Love you too,” Max mumbled. Magnus pulled back and rose to his feet.

               “I’ll see you soon kid, okay?”

               “Okay,” Max said with a forced smile. Magnus ruffled his hair and headed out. “Magnus?” he called at the older boy’s back. The Shadowhunter turned.

               “Can you…I want to say goodbye to Alec,” Max decided, throwing his blankets back and jumping out of bed. Magnus smiled and patted him on the shoulder as the boy squeezed past him. Alec was standing in the hallway holding a photograph from one of the side tables. He looked up forlornly when he saw Magnus, but when Max caught his eye, he smiled and replaced the photograph.

               “Hey, kid,” Alec said. He crouched down and they both hugged.

               “Will I see you again?” Max asked, clutching onto the warlock’s shirt with both hands. Alec was quiet for a long time.

               “I might not be able to come see you at the Institute,” Alec finally responded, “but you and Magnus and Jace and Izzy can come see me any time. I have a cat.”

               “Is he like Church?”

               Alec laughed softly. “No, The Chairman is gentle.”

               “Come on, Max, get back to bed,” Magnus joked lightly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We have to go.”

               Max pulled back and adjusted his glasses. Alec stood and he and Magnus exchanged looks.

               “Be safe,” Max repeated to them. They both gave final goodbyes. Alec headed down the stairs first and Magnus hesitated at the top.

               “Hey, Max,” he said quietly. “Remember that no story is black and white. Huh?” The Shadowhunter looked at him with an eyebrow cocked.

               “Sure,” Max replied, confused. Magnus smiled silently and slipped down the stairs. Max stood there, clutching his witchlight, until the front door shut. He looked behind himself and picked up the photo frame that Alec had been looking at.

               It was a picture of his mom and dad, significantly younger, with a very little Alec and Jace. The boys were pulling each other’s hair and bickering. Robert was laughing while Maryse was looking on sternly. The glass of the frame was cracked.

               Max saw an area in the dust on the table, a perfect rectangle. He lowered the picture frame into the square, facedown, and saw it fit perfectly.

               “Why is this knocked down?” Max murmured to himself. He set it back up and smiled at it. Then he turned and went back to bed.

 

“What was that photo?” Magnus asked as they walked through the dead Alicante night. The witchlight threw strange shadows onto the buildings.

               Alec sighed. “Just an old picture of Jace and I. It was facedown and covered in dust. I guess Maryse tried to hide it after I developed my Mark.” He watched the night sky as they walked. “Are those the demon towers?” he said, changing the subject. Magnus followed his gaze. Stark against the half-moon sky, the several towers lining the city burned silver as the _adamas_ glowed.

               “Yeah, they keep Alicante safe,” he said. “But I guess you’d already know that; you were raised a Shadowhunter.”

               “We never came here when I was little, not until I was supposed to get my Marks,” Alec replied. “Probably good we didn’t. Can you imagine if I’d had one of my magic outbursts here?” He laughed at his own little joke.

               Magnus, confused, shrugged it off.

               “So…how do you think that went?” Alec continued, pressing his teeth into his lower lip. “The whole…coming here.”

               “I think it could have gone better for sure,” Magnus replied. “I guess it wasn’t all bad. You got to see Max.”

               “I then got disowned again,” Alec added, “called a mistake, and told I was going to corrupt my little brother.” The pessimist stared at his feet. “You know—you didn’t have to leave with me.”

               “Pardon?”

               “You could have stayed with them,” he elaborated. “They didn’t kick _you_ out.”

               Magnus laughed softly, a disbelieving sound. “Alexander, I wouldn’t have stayed without you. We’re in this together.”

               Alec smiled and looked at Magnus with a faintly hopeful gaze, something that was a new expression on the warlock’s face. “Thank you,” he murmured. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

               “Of course, Alexander.”

               They walked on in silence for a moment. Magnus tucked his chin into his coat, which was buttoned up to the collar. He shivered as a cold wind cut across the cobblestone.

               “Cold?” Alec asked. He had wound his scarf around his neck tightly and his gloved hands were sunk into his pockets.

               “A bit, yeah,” Magnus replied, flipping up the hood on his coat. The wind grabbed it and immediately pushed it down. He frowned.

               Alec pulled off one glove and handed it to Magnus. He took it, confused, and looked back at the warlock.

               “I have two,” Alec replied. Magnus went to put it on but realized one hand was occupied with the witchlight and the other with the glove. He frowned at himself for a second but Alec held out a hand for the stone.

               “It’ll go out,” Magnus warned.

               “That’s okay,” he said. “There’s lamp light.”

               Magnus shrugged again and dropped it into the warlock’s hand. The light went out for a second, but suddenly blazed up in a rainbow of color. Magnus took a step back, staring at it. It glowed red, which flowed into a beautiful ocean blue, into a deep forest green, royal purple, and back to red.

               “It—should only glow white and—for a Shadowhunter,” Magnus said, startled.

               “Maybe it’s because of my mother,” Alec said softly, watching the colors spin. “And maybe my father, too.”

               Magnus looked away and slid the glove onto his right hand. It was still warm from Alec’s hand and lined with fleece. He took the witchlight back and it faded back into white. Alec then held out his hand again. Magnus stared at him.

               Alec chucked a little, nervously, and laced his fingers with Magnus’ bare hand. “There,” he said. “It’s not…a _glove_ , but it’s…it’s close enough.” His face was turning redder by the second.

               Magnus smiled, touched, and squeezed Alec’s hand. A thrill ran down his spine when the warlock returned the pressure. Now in a comfortable silence, the two boys continued their walk, shoulders brushing, through the darkened pathways of Alicante, each holding on desperately to the sturdiest thing they could in the messy, ugly world they had found themselves in.


	13. Is It A Cookbook?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kay so I have no excuse but I'm going to try.  
> My biggest reasoning for this being so late is the fact that while this chapter has been done for a long time, AO3 wasn't agreeing with my browser so I've been fighting with it for the past two weeks. I'm so sorry! >//<  
> But I downloaded a new browser and it's working now!
> 
> Not a lot of Malec in this chapter, more establishing Magnus and Jace's brotherly relationship as well as Alec's studious nature.
> 
> Other than that, I own none of Shadowhunters.

“Magnus!”

               He raised his head. He had been oiling his bow in the weapons room when Jace’s voice had sounded.

               “In here,” he called.

               It had been a week since Magnus and Alec’s return from Alicante, and so much had happened. After telling Jace and Izzy about the Council’s decision, things had begun moving much faster. While Jace researched Valentine and the Circle, Magnus was digging through everything he could find about the Princes of Hell to see what he could find out for Alec.

               Since they had returned from London, Alec had been busy with his clients and trying to keep the Downworld calm about the Circle and Magnus had been busy with Shadowhunter things. They hadn’t seen each other since Portaling back to New York.

               They had had one more run-in with the Circle involving a half-dead mundie. They had tried to get him to a mundane hospital before he died, but hadn’t made it in time. He was pronounced DOA by the mundane healers they called.

               Jace shouldered open the door and jogged up the stairs toward where Magnus was sitting. He held a piece of parchment in his hand that was burnt a little on the edges.

               “Fire message?” he guessed.

               “From Robert,” he confirmed, handing it over. Magnus set his bow down and glanced over the slanted handwriting.

               _Jace:_

_We will be home next week instead of this week as planned. Something has come up in Alicante that requires our full attention._

_Robert_

Magnus flipped it over and frowned. “That’s all?”

               “Yeah,” Jace replied. “Short, sweet, and to the point.”

               “Hm.” Magnus thought about Max. He wondered what had happened. He bit the inside of his cheek in thought.

               He knew Maryse and Robert weren’t big fans of he and Alec, and he knew Max had a lot of questions. He hadn’t really thought much through about what the highly impressionable thirteen-year-old would say to his parents regarding his adoptive brother and his biological one. He hoped Max had enough sense to keep his mouth shut.

               “Magnus?” Jace said, waving a hand. The Shadowhunter looked up, eyebrows raised.

               “What’s up? Sorry.”

               Jace sighed lightly. “I _said_ , are you okay? You’ve been scatterbrained since you and Alec came back.”

               He wasn’t sure why, but Magnus had neglected to tell Jace about his and Alexander’s… _thing_ , whatever it might be. They had yet to DTR, as Isabelle called it (and she should know how to ‘define a relationship’, as she had had several), and Magnus didn’t want to put Alexander in any sort of uncomfortable situation. Even he was quick enough to realize that Jace and Izzy didn’t know their brother was gay.

               Magnus smiled. “I’m fine, Jace. Are you?” He rose to his feet as well so he could look the older boy in the eye. “You look like you haven’t slept or eaten in days.”

               Jace looked away. “I’m fine,” he echoed, voice a little sharper. “Listen, I was going to go on patrol. Do you want to come? Izzy is holding everything together downstairs and I figured we could use this time to make sure everything is quiet.”

               “That’s another thing,” Magnus continued. “There weren’t this many Shadowhunters here when I left.”

               “We’re amassing our forces,” Jace said, sounding relieved to talk about something besides feelings. “London is supposed to join us soon.”

               “London? As in the Branwells?”

               “No, as in the werewolves of. Yes, the Branwells.”

               Magnus laughed. “I missed your sarcastic ass.” He folded the letter and put it into his pocket. Grabbing his bow, he slung it onto his back and good-naturedly punched Jace in the arm. “Meet you in the foyer in fifteen.”

 

Alec sighed, rubbing his face in his hands. The books he had scattered on his counter were all starting to blur together. He had just received a new shipment of herbs from the Downworld black market and he had forgone sorting them to do more research on the Princes of Hell.

               All he had found in his books was theory. That was _it_ , just _theory_. No one had any concrete data or evidence—not even the High Council knew anything. He had sent a fire message to Adal, Maddox, and Cailin. Only Adal had replied, in the negative—all he had heard was speculation regarding any Princes of Hell.

               Shifting his weight, he stood and stretched. The Chairman mewed from the floor and batted at the warlock’s toes.

               He bent down and picked up his kitten, who immediately began to purr and headbutted his chin. Alec smiled and rubbed the kitten’s chin with his knuckles.

               “ _Would_ you respond to Chairman Meow?” he pondered aloud. The vibrating ball of fur licked his throat. He laughed and kissed the cat’s head. “I’m sure you’d respond to anything if I had food in hand.”

               His smile faded as he looked back at the books. They varied in several ways—each was in a different language, each was from a different era, one was a spellbook, one Alec suspected was a cookbook, and one he had an inkling was a crudely created pornographic novel, if the awful charcoal drawings were any indication.

               He knew his obsession with finding his father was unhealthy. He had never cared before because he had just figured it to be a random demon. But now that he had some solid evidence pointing to who it could be, he couldn’t just _let it sit_.

               “What if I go to the Spiral Labyrinth?” he asked his cat. “They probably have some books there on the Princes.”

               He had found a book in his study with the seal of the Labyrinth on the cover, and figured it must have been one of Catarina or Ragnor’s, as it certainly wasn’t his, but he had delved into it. There, he had found his only solid piece of anything to go off of.

               The title of the book was in an ancient, lost language that even Adal didn’t know. Alec had found mentions of a possible Shadowhunter called Peter Binsfeld in the late 1500s who had supposedly had contact with the demonic realm and had christened the Princes of Hell. They included seven demons, each with their own ‘sin’—Lucifer, Satan (the distinction between the two was clear), Mammon, Leviathan, Beelzebub, Belphegor, and Asmodeus. However, while his credibility was doubted, his facts were not—his distinctions were parallel to a work published in the very early 1400s called _The Lanterne of Light_ , which classified said demons further.

               Each Greater Demon, whose names varied only slightly from Binsfeld’s classifications, tempted people by a means of one of each of the seven deadly sins. Based on these classifications and all the cross-referencing the mundane internet could offer, Alec had narrowed it, through common sense and a lot of dictionary-thumping, to two—Mammon, the demon of covetousness, and Asmodeus, the demon of lust.

               Alec had desperately contacted Tessa Gray of the Spiral Labyrinth, begging for a copy of _The Lanterne_ to continue his research, to which she had replied after three days with disheartening news—the Labyrinth simply did not contain the book. It did not exist. She suggested perusing mundane libraries, as they tended to offer things without realizing what they were, but Alec wasn’t hopeful.

               He had cast two summoning charms that morning, one more powerful than the other, the desired effect being to bring a copy of the book to his lap, but it really _didn’t_ exist—he had pushed his magic so far he had blacked out for the majority of that morning trying to find one.

               He pressed the button his coffeemaker and it grumbled awake. Setting a mug under the spout, he turned away to let it brew as he refilled The Chairman’s food bowl. The cat jumped down and scooped a couple of the pieces of food onto the floor, licking them up from there.

               “You’re a strange cat,” he chuckled with a laugh, shaking his head. He then went back to his books.

               After another hour of perusing, browsing the internet, and mixing vodka and coffee, he finally shut the possibly-pornographic-spellbook and sat down heavily on one of his stools. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes and thought about the information he had found.

               Greater Demons, much like their Eidolon counterparts, possessed the ability to shapeshift. While many of the seven demonic sins could apply to Maryse—pride being the most likely, Alec thought with a haughty snicker—it didn’t make sense why a demon of pride would seduce a random Shadowhuntress. To be fair, it didn’t make sense why a Greater Demon of any sort would do that, but with the information he had, Alec figured a more likely target for Lucifer would be any Shadowhunter in a position of power before picking one at random.

               Mammon focused on those who coveted what others had. Maryse rarely coveted anything, unless it was a perfect family or an untarnished image. Seeing as how they were in the height of the Circle’s power, he assumed she wouldn’t have much to covet.

               Which left Asmodeus. Lust was certainly an option—even during his very slight stay in Idris, Alec had gotten the sensation that Maryse and Robert’s marriage was not everything they showed to the public. Shadowhunters are still human—even in a lack of love, lust is always present. If they were already having troubles before Valentine’s psychopathia rose to new heights, it would be easy for an imposter to slip past her defenses. That would also explain his and Maryse’s relative health during the pregnancy, and Alec’s explosive abilities at such a young age.

               “Did I solve it?” Alec asked The Chairman, watching the kitten lick the floor. “Is my father Asmodeus?”

               He watched his cat until he honestly became slightly irked with the rasping sound of his tongue on the tile.

               “Or maybe your craziness is catching,” he mocked the kitten, “and I’m totally off my rocker.”

               The Chairman shot him a look out of the corner of his eye, which was half-closed in concentration. Whether or not the cat understood him was uncertain. Alec sighed and passed a hand over his face.

               “I need to sleep,” he groaned, throwing his head backwards as he put his elbows on the countertop. He glanced at the clock over his stove and found it to be significantly later than he had expected. He picked up his phone and dialed a number he knew by heart—the number of that really nice Thai place across town. He needed to eat something before he slept.

 

Magnus looked up at the sky, which had darkened significantly since the beginning of their patrol. He spun an arrow around his palm, letting it weave around his fingers and feeling it clatter against his rings. The noise apparently got to Jace quicker than the other Shadowhunter recalled, for the blonde boy snatched it from his hand and jammed it back into Magnus’ quiver with enough force to make him stumble.

               “What was that for?” he asked, slightly irked. “You’ve been on edge all night.”

               “Just—that sound,” Jace snapped, crossing his arms. “I hate that sound.”

               “You’ve never minded my fidgeting before,” Magnus shot back.

               “You’ve never been as obnoxious with it,” Jace retorted, his voice rising. Magnus raised his hands to his shoulders in surrender.

               “I’m sorry,” he said through his pride. “Come on, Jace, what’s the _matter_ with you? You’re so on edge.”

               Jace avoided his gaze. “Did you find anything out about the Circle when you were in Europe?”

               Magnus was suddenly reminded of Maryse and Robert’s involvement with the Circle. He hadn’t said anything to Jace or Izzy out of fear of how it would change their opinions on the two senior Shadowhunters. To be fair, after witnessing Maryse’s attitude around Alec a week prior, Magnus’ pedestal he had put them on was starting to crumble.

               _To be fair,_ he had argued with himself, _they’re both adults. They can handle it. And the truth will come out sooner or later._

               “Magnus?”

               “Maryse and Robert were Circle members.”

               The words burst from his chest in a quick gasp, and were barely discernable to him. Jace stopped walking and stared at him for a long time.

               “I— _what_ , Magnus?” Jace demanded as the meaning of the words slowly dawned on the blonde. “You’ve gone batshit crazy. They would never.”

               “The head of the Warlock Council told us,” Magnus said, biting his lower lip and pulling on one sleeve of his battlegear. “Alec confronted Robert, and—and he confirmed it.” His eyes met Jace’s. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.”

               “They’re…” Jace’s gaze clouded and his eyes drifted. “They’re…Circle members.”

               “ _Were,_ Jace. I need you to understand that they _aren’t_ anymore.” Magnus stepped in front of him and went to reach out. Jace turned his back. “They left before Valentine really rose to power.”

               “You—you _knew_.”

               “What?” Magnus said. “Jace, face me, please.”

               “You knew they were members of that _cult._ ”

               “Not for _long_ , Jace,” he insisted. “See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you and Izzy. I was afraid of how this would affect your relationship with—”

               “Fuck off, Magnus,” Jace snapped, with such venom that the other Shadowhunter promptly shut up. He ran his hands through his hair. “They were Circle members. They were in leagues with Valentine, they were part of— _that_ —and you knew.” He finally turned around. A new lividity was burning in his gaze.

               “Jace, you have to understand that this was before Alec was born,” Magnus said. “This wasn’t recent.”

               “That doesn’t change the fact that you _knew_. You knew and you kept it from your _parabatai_.”

               Magnus inhaled slowly. “Yes. And I’m sorry.”

               “You—” Jace’s face suddenly twisted and he drew back, slugging Magnus in the chest. The other Shadowhunter, unprepared, stumbled, startled. “You, you _hid this from us!_ ” he shouted, landing another blow, this one on Magnus’ shoulder. Alarmed, Magnus began a strategic retreat. Jace matched him pace for pace.

               “Whoa, hold on—!” Magnus insisted, desperately trying to block Jace’s trained blows. He tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and went down, and Jace fell on top of him, still shouting. Writhing and tussling on the frozen ground, Magnus tried his best to do anything but hit back.

               “Do you realize how you’ve endangered us all?” Jace demanded, connecting a blow that perfectly lined up with the one Declan had inflicted a week and a half before. Stars exploded in Magnus’ eyes and he instinctively aimed a blow back. He connected with something sensitive and Jace’s weight was gone.

               Gasping, clutching his cheek, Magnus lay on the ground until his head stopped spinning. He could hear Jace breathing at his side and he tensed up, preparing for another assault. But Jace didn’t move. The frozen ground was seeping cold into Magnus’ padded battlegear and through his jeans.

               “The stars are out,” Jace murmured.

               “You’re right,” Magnus groaned, trying to blink them away. “I don’t find them very pretty.”

               “That night, at Valentine’s meeting,” Jace began quietly, “one of the Shadowhunters that escaped called me Johnathan. He told me—he would tell Valentine about me, and how pleased he would be.” Jace put his gloved hands behind his head. “I guess I’m just—scared.”

               “You aren’t scared of anything,” Magnus replied.

               “I am when it comes to my family. If Valentine knows me, somehow, then he’s looking for me.” Jace turned his head and his and Magnus’ eyes met. “If he’s looking for me, then that puts everyone I know in danger. Everyone who knows _me_. That includes you, as my _parabatai_. That includes Izzy and Max and Alec.”

               “I feel like Alexander can handle himself, for what it’s worth, as can Izzy,” Magnus replied, raising an eyebrow.

               “I’m still going to worry about everyone.” Jace replied with a light huff, looking back up at the sky. “Hey—it’s snowing.”

               Magnus turned his gaze back to the night sky and found he was right. A couple of the fat little flakes landed on his face, sticking to his eyelashes and melting on his nose and lips.

               Jace sat up, rubbing his jaw, which was already starting to bruise. Magnus figured that was where his blow had landed. The two _parabatai_ rose to their feet, and Jace glanced around the park. The last few stragglers the night had found were rushing home to avoid the snow.

               “You ready to head back? Everything seems quiet, and with this snow, not even the dumbest demons will be out,” Jace said with a sideways smile.

               Magnus looked down the street, away from Central Park and away from the Institute. They were pretty close to Alexander’s flat. Part of him felt the need to go check on the warlock. Part of him simply _wanted_ to check on the warlock.

               Jace followed his gaze. “Do you want to take a detour?” he guessed. “I’ll come with you. I haven’t been to his apartment yet.”

               Magnus, startled, looked at Jace. “How did you—?”

               “Please, you never hesitate about anything,” the Shadowhunter replied, rolling his eyes. “And Alec lives down that way. There’s no harm in dropping by on a friendly visit.”

               Magnus smiled very slightly. “Jace.”

               The blonde boy punched his shoulder lightly and started walking. Magnus trailed behind him very slightly.

               Looking at the stretch of his shoulders and the sweep of his stride, Magnus was reminded of a time when he was getting over his crush on Declan, when he had a sort of rebound onto Jace. But as his _parabatai_ , he soon came to his senses and realized he was realistically unable to do anything about it. Not that Jace would have shared his feelings anyway—boy was straight as a board.

               Magnus smiled to himself. It didn’t matter now anyway. He had Alexander, and he more than made up for Jace.


	14. Until It All Turns Back Into A Pumpkin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have fun?  
> Rated T for kissing and language.  
> (this is either four days early or three days late and I like to think of it as being early.)
> 
> NOTE The next couple chapters will take a while because my finals start this Friday and I'll be cramming and working for the next two weeks. College SUCKS but hey then again it's nearly Christmas. Happy Christmahanukwanzaa!

Alec faintly heard the buzzing from the call button, but in his exhausted state, it didn’t really register. Half-asleep and stuffed full of Thai food, he mumbled something about them leaving him alone and pulled a pillow over his eyes. The buzzing stopped for a few seconds before beginning again.

               The Chairman let out a yowl. Alec groaned and rolled onto his side on the couch.

               “Chairman, get the door,” he mumbled. “I don’t want to.”

               The buzzing finally stopped. Alec sighed and reached without success for the soft drink he had left on the carpet by the couch. Peering out from under his pillow, he saw it was barely out of reach. Narrowing his eyes, he strained to reach it with his magic. A few feeble blue sparks trailed from his palm and didn’t even make it to the floor before fizzling out.

               “Son of a bitch,” he cursed. _I shouldn’t have wasted all my magic this morning._

               There was a knock at the door that scared him so badly he fell off the couch. In his desperate flailing, he knocked over the Styrofoam cup of Coke.

               “Shit,” he growled, rising to his knees. Knocking some napkins off of the table onto the foaming puddle, he staggered to the door. Whatever was on the other side knocked again. He got in two knocks before Alec flung open the door with enough force it bounced into the wall.

               “Whoever the _hell_ disturbs the High Warlock of Brooklyn at this hour risks castration,” Alec boomed, rubbing his eyes with one hand. When he blinked foggily in front of him, however, he was brought to a screeching halt.

               Magnus had one hand half-raised in a slightly curled fist, obviously being the one who was knocking. Jace was slightly behind him, one hand resting on the hilt of a seraph blade while the other was in his coat pocket. Both men sported full battlegear and weapons, as well as fresh Marks and comically shocked expressions.

               “When you didn’t answer the buzzer, we got concerned and let ourselves in,” Magnus began slowly. “We can leave if you are busy, Alexander.”

               Alec’s heart shot into his throat and his tongue decided this was a good time to make him stammer like a flustered schoolkid. His face turned red and he passed a hand over it, finally biting his traitorous tongue.

               “No, I’m not—I was just—come in,” he sighed, standing aside and beckoning the two Shadowhunters in. Magnus shot him a sideways smile that Alec returned. Jace, sharp as a hawk, caught the exchange and his brows furrowed slightly but he didn’t comment.

               “Looks like someone never abandoned his studious nature,” Jace commented as Alec eyed the puddle of Coke and decided to tackle that first. The warlock glanced around at the books scattered all over the coffee table and bar, joined by several empty coffee mugs and empty Thai boxes.

               “I’ve been—studying,” Alec replied vaguely. Magnus picked up Binsfield’s _Classification of Daemons_ and began to finger through it. Jace threw himself down on the couch as Alec began to drop more paper towels on the puddle in his carpet, stepping on them to soak up the fizzy drink.

               “Can’t you just…” Jace snapped his fingers a couple times. “And clean that up?”

               Alec raised an eyebrow and snapped the fingers on his right hand. A flash of blue light accompanied the sound, but nothing else happened. Shaking his lightly smoking fingertips, he said, “I cast a couple summoning charms today and burned up all of my magic. I’ll be fine after I sleep but til then I’m very mundane.”

               “That’s a thing that happens?” Jace inquired. Magnus frowned at a passage in the book and perched on a barstool, opening another to an index. “Like, you can run out of magic?”

               “It isn’t like running water,” Alec explained, picking up the wad of wet paper towels and dropping them into the wastebasket by the coffee table. “It’s more like a pool. Every time I use magic the pool level drops a little bit. It replenishes bit by bit whenever I sleep or eat—it’s a lot like regular energy. Since I cast two strong spells today, I drained the entire pool all at once, so I’m fucked for the rest of the night.”

               Jace nodded, biting his cheek. “Interesting.”

               The Chairman leapt delicately onto the counter, meowing cutely at Magnus. The Shadowhunter absently rubbed his ears. Alec found himself looking at the line of Magnus’ jaw and the way he sucked in his cheeks while reading, the long shadows his mascaraed lashes cast over his perfectly contoured cheekbones… He smiled a little and tipped his head to one side.

               Jace suddenly rose, catching Alec’s elbow in his hand. The warlock jumped and felt himself flushing.

               “Can I talk to you?” Jace demanded as Alec stammered, “I wasn’t—”

               They stared at each other.

               “What?” they both queried in unison. Alec was the first to shake his head, a little harder than necessary, and beckoned for Jace to continue.

               “I want to talk to you,” the Shadowhunter relented, shooting a look at Magnus’ turned back that said _out of earshot._ Alec cast a glance at the other warrior’s back. He had one hand turning the pages of his book, the other absently rubbing through the hair on the back of his head.

               _I want to run my hands through his hair,_ Alec thought desperately, physically curling his hands into fists. Jace noticed the motion but incorrectly interpreted it.

               “Listen, he won’t hurt your books or your cat,” he said, irritated as he pulled Alec down the hallway and into Alec’s bedroom. Alec sat himself down on the bed as Jace began to pace. The warlock figured his brother would begin talking when he was ready, so he didn’t say anything.

               Jace walked back and forth for a couple of revolutions around the room before he stopped and looked at Alec. “You know some things about warlock magic.”

               Alec inclined his head. “To put it one way, I suppose I do.”

               “Tracking spells. Are they like Shadowhunters’ tracking runes? Or can they track people without having a physical object?” Jace looked like a man crazed, searching for answers that weren’t there. He had dark circles and his cheekbones were gaunt in his face. He looked hollow and restless. Worried now, Alec stood.

               “Jace, have you been sleeping?” he asked, reaching out. Jace spun away, resuming his long strides across the floor.

               “I want to know if I can be tracked. If I—if we go to Idris, can I be tracked?”

               “What are you so scared of?” Alec insisted, eyes wide.

               “I mean, I know Idris isn’t exactly _subtle_ ,” he continued. “But if I leave New York, they won’t know where I am. If they don’t know where I am, you guys aren’t in _danger_ anymore.”

               “What’s all this talk of danger?” Alec asked, growing frustrated with Jace’s lack of answers.

               “I read that warlocks can track without physical objects.” Jace’s words were speeding up and stumbling over themselves. His hands began to shake. “If he has warlocks working with him—”

               “Who is he? And to be fair, warlocks aren’t as easy to come by as you’d think,” Alec snapped, finally grabbing Jace’s shoulder. “Will you start from the beginning?”

               “Just answer me!” Jace shouted, stopping so abruptly that the warlock, moving to follow him, stumbled into him. His voice echoed around the bedroom. The silence that followed was deafening.

               “Jace, I’ll answer you if you start from the _beginning_ ,” Alec growled. His heart pounded and his vision sharpened temporarily as his mark flashed. Jace looked away.

               The Shadowhunter began retelling his story, starting at Valentine’s meeting and going through all of his sleepless nights, days and nights and days spent staring at the ceiling in the library with books open, meals skipped and picked at, panic attacks had when Jace had never had panic attacks before—

               The Shadowhunter was pacing and his words were coming faster and then he was crying. _Jace was crying Jace doesn’t cry why is he crying—_

               “Jace,” Alec whispered, his heart stopping. He reached out to his brother and pulled him tight against him. Alec was barely a half-head taller but Jace’s hunger-pang frame fell easily against the warlock’s chest, and his shoulders shook and he clutched Alec’s sleeves.

               _He’s not sad_ , Alec realized. _He’s exhausted. He’s pushed himself so far he’s emotionally and physically exhausted and his body can’t keep up with his mind anymore._

               Jace’s legs gave out first and both men slid to the floor. Alec knelt and let Jace lay against him until the younger boy’s breathing finally calmed and he pushed himself into a sitting position.

               “Stay the night,” Alec said softly. “You’re too tired.”

               “I need to go back to the Institute.” Jace looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. His voice and body were steady but slumped with lack of sleep. If Alec hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have believed he had just had a crying fit seconds before.

               “So you can stay up all night again and keep driving yourself into a hole? Absolutely not.” Alec rose to his feet. “This isn’t up for debate, Jace. I want you to stay here tonight. Get some sleep.” He pointed to his bed. “Go over there.”

               “I can sleep on the couch.”

               “You won’t.” Alec crossed his arms. Jace rose as well and pulled his hair back from his face. He raised his head and looked crookedly at the warlock.

               “You’re significantly more demanding than I remember.”

               “Your stubbornness is the same,” Alec retorted. He reemphasized his pointing. “Go. Bed. Now.”

               Jace rubbed the back of his neck but complied, pulling off his battlegear coat and tossing it onto the foot of the bed. Alec waited until he sat down and bent to unlace his boots to open the door and leave the room, pulling it shut behind him.

               “Alec,” he called before it latched. Alec poked his head back in. Jace looked at him, opened his mouth and closed it again, then bit his lip and said, “Thanks.”

               Alec smirked. “First Jace cries, now he’s showing sentiment? Who are you and where’s my brother?”

               “Ah, piss off.” Jace threw one boot. Alec pulled the door shut quickly and heard it hit the frame. He rubbed the back of his head with his fingertips, thinking. He wasn’t sure he had anything to make for his brother to eat. Maybe he’d ask Magnus.

               He paced into the living room, whistling for his cat. The Chairman ran for his feet and nearly tripped him as the ball of teeth and claws attacked his ankles.

               He picked up the kitten and knuckled his chin, pacing back into the living room.

               “…do you mean?” Magnus was saying in a low voice. Alec stopped in the doorway. The Shadowhunter’s back was turned and he was standing in front of the window. He paused, one hand on his hip, and said, “Isabelle’s at the Institute. No, Jace and I were on patrol. In Central Park.” Another long pause. “Why are you upset?”

               Figuring it was either Maryse or Robert, Alec silently snuck around him and paced into the kitchen. The Chairman slunk onto the counter, stepping delicately over the books. Magnus had poured himself a drink in one of Alec’s matte black mugs, which the cat sniffed at, dipping a paw into the mug. Alec hissed at him to stop. The Chairman hissed back. Offended, Alec turned away.

               “Izzy is perfectly capable of being left in charge. I know Valentine is at large but she isn’t a child anymore, Maryse.”

               Alec felt his lip curling at her name, but suppressed it.

               “Jace and I will be home in the morning.” Then Magnus pressed a hand to his forehead. “ _Yes_ , in the morning. We’re with Alexander.”

               Alec turned to look at the Shadowhunter and was surprised to find Magnus already looking at him. They met eyes for the longest time while without a doubt Maryse was screeching at her adoptive son, and Magnus finally said “Y-Y’know what, Maryse? Jace and I will be home in the morning. Give our regards to the Branwells when you see them and we’ll be home just after dawn.”

               _“Don’t you hang up on me, Magnus Lightwood!”_ was heard over the phone. Alec cocked an eyebrow. Magnus rolled his eyes and said, “Sorry, Maryse, we’re getting cut off. Tunnels, solar flares, the like. See you in the morning, kiss Max for me!”

               He pulled the phone from his ear and tossed it onto the counter. It landed silently on one of the open books. The Chairman, who was busy licking what looked like coffee from his paw, turned to stare at it suspiciously. The screen lit up and it began buzzing violently as Maryse tried to call him back. Magnus ignored it, pacing around the bar to pick up his mug and peer into it.

               “The Chairman’s had his paw in that,” Alec warned.

               “I don’t care.” Magnus threw the whole thing back and Alec wrinkled his nose.

               “You don’t know where he’s been,” he said, shaking his head. Changing the subject, he asked, “What was all that about?”

               Magnus wiped a thumb across his lower lip, catching the last drop of coffee that hung there. Alec’s eyes followed every movement. “Maryse and Robert came home tonight and when Jace and I weren’t there she had an apoplectic fit.”

               Alec nibbled on his thumbnail. “She probably doesn’t like that you guys are hanging out with me,” he muttered, turning away. He felt warm hands on his hips and Magnus’ body pressed up behind him. As goosebumps rose on Alec’s entire body, the taller man ducked his head to place a kiss on Alec’s earlobe.

               “I probably don’t care,” he breathed, softly enough that the rush of warm air over Alec’s ear made him melt. A callused hand caught his chin and turned his face so that his blue cat eyes met the Shadowhunter’s green ones.

               “You must learn to relax, Alexander,” he whispered against the warlock’s lips, leaning in to catch them in a slow kiss.

               Alec’s stomach flipped and his legs shook, but he kept his footing as he cupped the back of Magnus’ head in his palm. The Shadowhunter’s thumbs slipped under his shirt and touched the sides of his stomach, rubbing little circles as their lips and tongues slid together. Alec’s other hand cupped Magnus’ on his hip, their fingers lacing. Magnus tasted like coffee and chocolate and something else, something darker and sweeter and _Magnus_.

               Alec wasn’t sure how long they stood there, close together and completely wrapped up in each other, his nose full of sandalwood and his hand in the other Shadowhunter’s hair, but however long it was wasn’t long enough. Alec knew that in all of his immortal years it would never be enough.

 

Jace paced out of the bedroom, stretching. He had on his long-sleeved black shirt that he wore under his battlegear and his jeans. His socks slid across the hardwood floor and he yawned.

               He felt bad and was horribly embarrassed at himself for falling apart on Alec. He didn’t want to and had no idea why he did. All he knew was that he was exhausted and hungry, and Alec was taking too damn long to make his food.

               “Alec,” he said through the yawn, putting a hand on the doorframe and peering into the kitchen. Then he stopped.

               Based on the look the two had shared when they walked into the apartment, plus the way neither would speak to him about the things that happened in London, Jace had his suspicions. But seeing his _parabatai_ and his brother locked in the embrace they were locked in—well, that was a whole other ballpark of _things_.

               Jace braced one forearm against the doorframe and put the other on his hip, sucking in his lower lip. They were completely lost in each other.

               _“I mean, Alec’s gay, so—”_

               “Of course, Izzy’s right,” Jace laughed to himself, rubbing his nose. Jace ducked back around the wall and reached into his shirt, pressing his fingertips against the spiral rune on his chest.

               A heat spread through his body, something warm and safe and comforting that made him sleepy. He tipped his head back against the wall and sighed. His heart ached despite the heat, and he pulled his hand back almost reluctantly. Jace stared at the ceiling.

               What they had… Jace could feel how real it was. He could feel the attachment and the strength of their bond. They had something now that Jace wasn’t a part of. Sure, he had Izzy, and yes, he and Magnus were _parabatai_ , but now Magnus and Alec were so in love it hurt Jace physically.

               _What happens then? Where do I fit in in this dynamic?_

 

Alec and Magnus pulled apart, both breathing a little heavier, foreheads and noses pressed together.

               “I—I…” Alec took a deep breath. “I came out to make something.”

               “What, dinner? I’ll help,” Magnus murmured against his skin, brushing kisses on his cheeks.

               “Actually, I think he came out to make dinner for me.”

               They sprung apart like they’d been electrically charged, scaring The Chairman so badly he fell off the counter. Jace stood in the doorway with his arms crossed across his chest and one eyebrow cocked. He smirked at them and waved a hand dismissively.

               “You guys can _tell me_ ,” he sighed. “I mean I _guessed_ after you went to London, but I couldn’t be _sure_ of anything.”

               “Maryse and Robert,” Magnus began.

               “They won’t know,” Jace promised, putting a hand over his heart dramatically. “Scout’s honor.”

               “You were never a scout,” both Magnus and Alec said flatly.

               “It still counts.” Jace wandered into the kitchen and began pulling open cabinets. “Now are we going to make dinner or not?”


	15. Nothing Is As It Seems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Syllabus week! The next big holiday after Christmahanukwanza. Colloquially called "Hell Week" by university students, it is typically hated universally, second only to finals and midterms.
> 
> BUT FUN NEWS GUYS  
> I'm taking a world lit class and I get to write my term paper on City of Bones! It's a ten page paper comparing the work of a non-American author (Cassie was born in Iran according to several sites) to the movie or TV adaptation. Since CoB has both, I'll be doing both! And I'm REALLY EXCITED
> 
> Anyway. Read and review and enjoy! This one just about broke 10 pages and 5000 words, so have fun!!  
> I own nothing but Mia Heronflight

Jace fell asleep just after midnight. This left Alec and Magnus alone in the living room, both with a little too much wine in their bodies, one on top of the other, kissing slowly on the couch.

               Magnus was on top, his hips gyrating slowly over Alec’s, his elbows nestled into the pillow on either side of Alec’s head. His fingers were teasing strands of Alec’s unevenly cut, flaring black hair. The warlock’s hands were up Magnus’ shirt, tracing patterns on his back.

               A sharp ringing from the coffee table interrupted the silence, and made them both jerk in surprise. Magnus rolled his eyes and blindly fumbled for it, managing to forward the call. Once their kissing had resumed, however, it rang again.

               “Maybe you should get that,” Alec murmured against his mouth.

               “Just let it ring,” Magnus growled, biting softly on Alec’s lower lip. It faded to silence, but the quiet was short lived as, for a third time, the ringing started.

               _“Kotoran_ ,” Magnus swore, swinging his leg off of Alec’s waist and standing angrily, snatching up the phone. “ _Apa?_ ” he demanded of whoever was on the other end, straightening his shirt with one hand.

               Alec put his hands behind his head, closing his eyes and smiling. His body burned pleasantly and his lips tingled. _I could get used to this._

               “ _What?”_ Magnus demanded, so loudly that Alec jumped and his eyes flew open. Magnus’ shoulders were tight and his grip on his phone was white. Alec pushed himself into a sitting position, concerned.

               “When did they arrive?” Magnus demanded. He began to pace, tugging at his shirtsleeve with his free hand. “All of them? Are they okay?”

               Magnus turned around and Alec saw his face white as a sheet and his jaw set. “Keep them in the infirmary. Alexander and I will be there soon. I’ll—I’ll explain when I get there, Izzy, just trust me, okay? Give me fifteen.”

               He shoved his phone in his back pocket and began moving quickly around the room, speaking as he did so.

               “The Branwells just Portaled into the Institute, but it’s bad—someone ambushed them. Declan and Niall are unconscious, Sara and David are badly hurt—Kiera is the only one in fighting shape and even she’s not good.” Magnus looked straight at Alec, who had risen to his feet. “Izzy thinks it’s Valentine.”

 

Magnus and Alec strode into the Institute just after one a.m., Magnus in full battlegear and Alec wearing jeans, a sweater, and his heavy black dress coat. Magnus had insisted on letting Jace sleep—he needed that more than they needed him.

               Before they had left, Alec had snuck into his room, careful not to disturb Jace, to grab several potions out of the cabinet beside his bookshelf. Hurriedly mixing things together, he had created some half-assed magic replacement potion that would give him enough magical energy to perform simple spells, but only for a short time. Judging by the hard way it went down and burned his throat so badly he gagged, he was going to feel every second of whatever he did that night in the morning.

               It felt like years since Alec had been in the Institute, since so much had happened, but thankfully Magnus’ blessing stood since he knew he didn’t have enough magic left to cast a shielding spell on himself. They made it halfway to the infirmary without incident. Alec knew it was too good to last.

               Just as that thought crossed his mind, a dark-haired figure strode around a corner and stopped cold when she saw the two.

               “Maryse, don’t,” Magnus warned, but her face had already contorted and she shouldered past her adoptive son to stand in front of Alec, who, tired and put-off already, took a wary retreating step.

               “I thought I told you never to come back,” she growled at him, her hands clenching.

               “And trust me, I wasn’t going to,” he retorted, too far gone to care about being respectful, “but then we got a phone call that my friends, the Branwells, have arrived looking like they’ve been dragged backwards through several circles of Hell, and out of concern for their well-being, I dragged my ass off my couch and out of my warm apartment full of wine and walked halfway across Manhattan in the snow. Nowhere in that plan was the step that instructed me to ask for your permission.”

               “Better to beg forgiveness,” Magnus chimed in quietly. Maryse spun on him.

               “Don’t you _dare_ protect him,” she snarled.

               Alec stepped between the two Shadowhunters, pushing Magnus behind him. “Don’t talk to my boyfriend that way.”

               The silence in the hall was deafening. Maryse’s mouth fell open comically and she stared for a split second before regaining her composure. She showed a canine at the corner of her mouth in barely contained distaste.

               “Get out of my house,” she demanded.

               “No.” Alec squared his shoulders. “I’ve lived my life in fear of you and Robert and I am not letting you control me anymore.”

               “Alexander.” Magnus’ arm curled around his bicep. “The infirmary.”

               “If you’ll excuse me,” Alec said in a tone which in no way showed the respect the words conveyed. Turning on one heel, Alec continued his stride down the hallway. Magnus jogged after him, shooting a single glance back at his adoptive mother.

               “Alexander, that was—very brave, what you did,” he said.

               _“I know who I am, and I am confident in who I am. Why should I let what others think of me get under my skin?”_

               “Just taking your advice,” Alec replied, smiling faintly at the other.

               “Did you mean what you said?” he asked. “Are we—am I your boyfriend?”

               Alec smiled a little bigger as he felt Magnus lightly take his hand. “If you want to be.”

               “I like this new confident Alexander. Where has he been?” Magnus teased.

               “He’s high on wine, caffeine, and exhaustion,” Alec replied, “and probably adrenaline. Don’t get used to him.”

 

Izzy met them at the door to the infirmary, her eyes dark and her hair sleep-mussed.

               “You two took your time,” she said faintly, gesturing them inside. “Niall and Declan are still out.”

               Magnus pushed past her and jogged into the room. Alec paused to hug Izzy tightly.

               “Where’s Jace?” she inquired.

               “Sleeping. We left him at my apartment. I wanted to let him sleep and Magnus agreed with me,” Alec explained. The siblings headed further into the room, and Alec was greeted by the sharp smell of ichor and blood.

               The first two beds were pushed together and on them rested Sara, Declan and Niall’s mother, and whom Alec presumed to be her husband. They were both stretched out, their hands lightly on top of each other, hair blood-streaked and battlegear beaten.

               “They’re sleeping,” Izzy murmured in his ear. “They were conscious when they arrived but both collapsed from exhaustion not long ago. I assume they took the brunt of most of the attacks, and they had to carry Niall and Declan here as well. They healed themselves while we were caring for the boys and Kiera.”

               Speaking of the younger girl with long, dark hair and a smattering of freckles—she was curled up under a light blanket on a bed beside her mother’s, dried tear-tracks on her face and her lip bitten bloody.

               “She fell asleep just a few minutes ago,” she continued. “She fought like all of Hell and still came out the least hurt. Niall and Declan are the two we’re worried about.” She nodded further into the room. Alec followed her gaze.

               Niall’s battlegear was shredded and bloody. Most of his shirt was ripped and hanging off his torso and his pants more resembled a skirt torn into several strips. A Shadowhuntress Alec didn’t recognize was sitting in a chair by his head, dabbing at the dried blood on his face and torso with a wet cloth. The water in the bowl was crimson. She looked up at Alec when he passed. Recognition flashed on her face and she began to stand.

               “Sit,” he said tiredly. “I don’t care about Shadowhunter honorifics.”

               “It’s a pleasure, High Warlock,” she replied. “I’m Mia Heronflight from Montpelier. Vermont,” she added quickly.

               “A pleasure,” he repeated, coming around Niall’s other side and running the back of his hand along the Shadowhunter’s jaw. He didn’t respond. “What were his wounds?”

               “Several slashes that appeared to be from seraph blades or knives,” Izzy stepped in. “He had a stab wound in his calf, likely from a sword, and a couple of broken bones. Claw wounds down his chest and his back, and one on his neck that came dangerously close to his jugular. They looked like Mantid wounds. Most healed after an iratze.”

               “Declan,” Magnus’ choked voice cut through hers. Alec turned at the pain his boyfriend’s voice, stopped cold by the sight that greeted him.

               Declan was significantly worse off. He had a sheet wrapped around his lower half, extending from his abdomen to the tops of his thighs. He looked more like a cadaver. The Marks on his body were crisscrossed with wounds that obviously refused to heal but had thankfully stopped bleeding. Bandages stuck several of the deeper ones together, but blood was dried on his hands and in his hair. He had a long cut across his forehead, one cutting down across one eye and across the bridge of his nose, then another splitting his lower lip. All were facing the same direction; they looked like claw marks.

               Magnus had fallen to his knees, clutching the other boy’s hand. His eyes were full of tears but he refused to cry. Instead he gripped the Brit’s hand tightly in both of his, bringing it to his forehead and whispering something, very fast and very quietly, that Alec couldn’t catch.

               “His clothing was so destroyed we had to remove all of it. And his wounds—they won’t heal,” Izzy said. “I was—I was wondering if you would be able to help him.”

               Alec hesitated, swallowing hard. He didn’t know if he had the magic for that.

               “Why won’t they heal?” he asked instead.

               “Poison is what we assume,” Izzy continued. “That’s typically the only thing that stands in the way of an _iratze_.”

               Alec began mentally searching for a way out— _I need hard proof, I don’t have magic, I can’t cure what I don’t know—_ and then stopped himself. Why was he trying to find a way out of this? Declan was his friend, was he not? Why didn’t he want to heal him?

               Then Alec saw Magnus, and he realized two very important things.

               One: If he didn’t at least try and something awful happened to the other Shadowhunter, Magnus would never forgive him. And two: Alec wasn’t afraid to try. He was afraid to fail.

               Alec began to shake his head. “I—I don’t know—,” he tried weakly.

               Then another thought occurred to him.

               _You couldn’t save Ragnor. You were so scared then your magic failed you. You cannot let your own fear stand in the way of another life._

               Alec cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. “Without knowing what I’m trying to heal, it’ll be hard,” he said in his High Warlock business voice, “but I’ll do my best.”

 

Ten minutes later, Alec stood at the side of Declan’s bed, biting his lower lip and rubbing his palms together.

               Magnus stood just behind him, one hand resting gently on the small of his back. Izzy and Mia stood just off to the side, talking quietly.

               “Alexander,” Magnus said quietly. The warlock swallowed and cracked his knuckles.

               “Magnus, I’m going to do what I can, but I don’t know how much magic I have,” he warned. “I took a quick rejuvenation potion before we left my apartment but I don’t know how long it’ll last.”

               “Please do all you can for him,” Magnus murmured. Alec turned and gripped his hand. They stood like that, eyes locked for a few moments, before Alec dropped his gaze and turned away.

               Magnus stepped back to be with Izzy, who took his hand. They hugged for a moment.

               Alec cleared his throat awkwardly, shaking his sleeves back and stretching out his hands. Concentrating, he focused on pulling the magic from his core into his fingertips. Blue sparks dripped and began to swirl around his hands. The magic turned from a cobalt blue to a fainter sky blue as it started to falter.

               “Shit, no,” Alec hissed. “Don’t you fade on me.”

               He focused on the poison, picturing it travelling through Declan’s bloodstream. The magic faded to lavender. He pictured it switching directions. He pictured wounds opening, and the gashes on his chest pulled apart to reveal raw redness underneath.

               The lavender faded back to white.

               “ _No_ ,” Alec insisted, clenching his shoulders. “I’m so _close_.”

               Then the world flashed white and faded to black.

 

Alec staggered, gasping as he hit grass and fell to his knees. Struggling upright, he stared around, stunned.

               He was back in front of the London Institute. But some colors were missing and Alec’s peripheral was cloudy and blurred, like a picture faded by the sun.

               “What the hell?” he murmured to himself, brows knitting. The grass was a faded gray-green instead of its normal vibrant emerald. Bending down, he picked up a leaf that crumbled to dust in his hand.

               “Magnus!” A laughing shriek cut through his reverie and he jerked his head up. Two little figures came sprinting around the side of the Institute, one taller than the other by just a little.

               “Better catch me if you don’t want to get locked out!” The boy in the front cried back, running right at Alec. The warlock stared, then realized he should step out of the way too late. He ran right for Alec—

               —and right through him. The other boy followed suit. Gasping, Alec clutched his chest and spun to watch them.

               The boy in the front had long dark hair that reached down to his shoulders, flawless olive skin, and shining gold eyes. He sprinted up the Institute stairs and spun to look back down at his companion, who had blonde hair and eyes that glimmered like chipped emeralds.

               “No fair, your legs are longer than mine,” he grumbled.

               “Not true,” the first boy replied with a laugh. “You’re taller, Dec.”

               Alec’s brow furrowed. This was a little Magnus and Declan. Where the hell _was he?_

               With flashing lights and a swirl of color, the scene changed. Suddenly motion-sick, Alec fumbled for something to grip. His hands fell against a metal bar in front of him, lining a raised walkway.

               “Faster!” a man shouted from just beside his ear. Leaping out of his skin, Alec stared. He was significantly younger but it was unmistakably David Branwell, with messy brown hair and dark eyes. They were so close their hands brushed, but like before, it was like Alec wasn’t even there. The warlock leaned forward, waving a hand experimentally in front of the Shadowhunter’s face. Leaning forward against the railing, David stared right through him.

               A theory began to nag at Alec. He walked around David, peering at him. The edges of his outline were blurred, and the walkway beneath their feet was almost transparent. The room was solid in the middle, but the further out he got, the more faded and blurred the room became.

               “Am I in Declan’s memories?” he said to himself. Frowning, he looked down at his hands, which had wisps of magic spinning around them. He wondered what had happened.

               Turning his head to watch what David was, he saw Magnus and Declan, slightly older, both covered in sweat and play-fighting. Magnus had a staff and Declan a sword. They clattered and slammed together, bits of the wood chipping off as the sword battered away at it.

               “You can’t just defend, Magnus!” David shouted.

               Gasping and shaking sweat from his hair, which was left natural, Magnus took a few steps back. Declan began to cough.

               “If Dec can’t fight at a hundred percent, I won’t take advantage of that,” Magnus insisted, rubbing the other Shadowhunter’s back as he gasped for air, bent over.

               “You think an enemy will take mercy on you?” David demanded. “Just because you have a cold?”

               “Bronchitis isn’t a _cold_ ,” Magnus snapped, then caught himself. Quieter, he continued; “Dec isn’t my enemy. He gives me a run for my money when he’s at full power.”

               David straightened up, crossing his arms. “That’s enough for today. Both of you get cleaned up, then it’s time for patrol.” He turned and walked out, his boots clicking on the metal walkway.

               Declan slid to the floor, his face bright red and clutching his sword, where he had dug the tip into the mats on the floor. Magnus sat across from him.

               “Sorry, Mags,” he groaned, falling to his back with a thump. “I just—I can’t breathe.”

               “I know,” he soothed. “Hey, but I have something that will make you feel better.”

               Declan raised his head, then the rest of his torso. “What?”

               Magnus held out a hand, smirking. Declan, confused, took it. Magnus raised the hand to his mouth and cheekily kissed the back.

               Alec’s lips parted, stunned. Declan scowled, snatching his hand back.

               “A kiss from your prince charming,” Magnus teased, dropping a cocky wink. The other Shadowhunter turned away.

               “Dick,” he muttered. Magnus’ cocky expression flickered and for the first time since Alec had met him, he saw a bit of doubt cross his face.

               Again, the scene changed. Prepared now, the warlock braced himself and closed his eyes as the colors spun. When it settled, he opened them again and was startled. This scene was much clearer, like Alec was watching a movie. Every detail was brought into stark relief. Declan, probably twelve or thirteen, was sitting on his bed with his knees drawn to his chest.

               Alec heard a knock at the door to his back.

               “Dec, come on.” Magnus’ voice was pleading and insistent. “I have to go.”

               Declan, on the bed, crossed his arms on top of his knees and buried his face into them, staring out his window.

               “I know you aren’t asleep, you never lock the door.” The knob bounced as Magnus tried it. “Hiding won’t make me stay.”

               “It might,” Declan mumbled to himself. “You wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

               There was a long pause. Magnus sighed irritably. “The Portal won’t stay open forever. I have to go. Are you coming to see me off?”

               The blonde closed his emerald eyes hard. His hands clenched into fists. Alec’s heart ached for him.

               “I’ll write, I guess,” Magnus mumbled. “You could at least say goodbye.” Then his footsteps trailed away.

               Declan’s shoulders shook and tears began to trail down his cheeks. His hands shook and he hid his face in his folded arms.

               “Declan,” Alec breathed, and the floor dropped away.

 

Alec let out a yelp as something pushed him backwards and he hit the floor. His magic faded and he heard a startled cry of his name.

               Looking up, he was startled to find himself back in the New York Institute’s infirmary. Declan on the bed was whimpering, still unconscious, his hands clenched around the blankets as his body shook. Mia had his shoulders pushed into the mattress as Izzy drew a hasty Mark on his chest.

               Magnus knelt by Alec, his golden eyes worried. Alec shook his head, pushing himself back to his knees and then to his feet.

               “What happened?” he said to himself, looking at Declan.

               “I don’t know,” Magnus replied. “Your magic went white, and then there was just a blinding flash of light and you were on the ground.”

               _That was almost no time out here,_ Alec realized. He repositioned his hands over Declan’s chest, searching with his magic for the poison. Finding faint traces, he continued to siphon it from his bloodstream while Mia kept his spasming body restrained. The poison was green, turning his blood a strange conglomeration of the two colors. Alec’s hands started to shake and black spots appeared in his vision. Blinking them away, he gritted his teeth and continued to work.

               Finally, his blood ran pure crimson, and Alec used the last traces of whatever magic he could summon to seal the gashes in his chest. Once the skin had started to knit, Alec felt his legs give out and he collapsed in the chair behind him, panting. He let his head fall back.

               “Jesus,” he breathed, passing a hand over his face. “He should rest easier now,” he said to whoever happened to be listening.

               Magnus sat on the edge of the bed after Declan had stilled and Mia had relaxed, letting him lie. The color was slowly starting to return to his cheeks and he lay more relaxed now.

               “Let him rest,” Magnus said quietly, glancing up at Izzy. The Shadowhuntress nodded and took Mia’s elbow, nudging her away. They went to check on the others as little Kiera began to whimper in her sleep.

               “I’m completely spent,” Alec groaned. “Goddammit. I’m going to feel awful in the morning.”

               Magnus didn’t reply.

               Alec raised his head with a bit of effort, resting it on his fist as he propped himself up on the arm of the chair. “Can I ask you something?”

               Magnus looked back at him, eyebrows raised slightly.

               Alec had to look down at his lap. “Did you—Do you love him?”

               Magnus took a slow breath through his parted lips, taking his time to reply.

               “If you’re asking me, Alexander, whether I’d pick him over you, the answer is no. Declan is many things, but my type is not one of them.”

               Alec played with a strand of his hair. “I saw Declan’s memories. That flash of light—I don’t know why, but for some reason when I tried to force my magic I ended up in his memories.” He hesitated. “All of them contained you.”

               Magnus’ brow furrowed. “You— _saw_ into his head?”

               Alec smiled and tapped one temple. “Psychic magic, remember? The poison probably weakened his mind as well as his body and the amount of force I had to exude allowed me to push his walls down the rest of the way.”

               Magnus looked away. “I’m sure you also saw what happened when I left, and why he was so angry.”

               _“You wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”_

               “I left London for New York when we were both thirteen,” Magnus continued, shooting a glance at Izzy and Mia. They were busy talking and seemed to be in their own world. “I told Declan that I was leaving about a week prior and he just—he refused to believe me. He thought I was kidding. When he realized I was serious, he got just…blindingly angry at me. Telling me that I couldn’t leave. That he’d be alone if I did. That we were going to be _parabatai_ , and how was I willing to just throw that all away?” He sighed, fingering the edges of his sleeves. “He wouldn’t come out of his room the whole day I was preparing to leave. I didn’t speak to him that whole day. I sent him a fire message that whole week, then a couple times the next month, and for the next few months. I eventually stopped, since he never replied.”

               “So last month was…”

               “The first time I’d seen him in ten years,” Magnus confirmed, nodding slowly. “Our reunion was bittersweet, to say the least.” He chuckled. “First thing he did was punch me.”

               Alec laughed lightly, which made his head spin. “Sounds like him.”

               Magnus’ smile turned sad. “He hasn’t changed in ten years. He’s still…he’s still little Dec.”

               Alec took a moment to watch his boyfriend as he watched Declan sleeping. He looked so young and so sad, but still the most gorgeous thing Alec had ever seen. The warlock yawned and Magnus didn’t miss it.

               “Tired?” he said lightly, smiling a sleepy smile back.

               “Unbelievably so,” Alec groaned.

               “You can use one of the guest rooms,” Magnus offered. “Then we can head back to your flat at dawn and get Jace.”

               “Mm.” Nothing sounded better. A soft bed, somewhere he could wash his face, and maybe some painkillers and water. Magnus’ slow kisses would be the icing on the cake Alec knew he would be getting tonight.

               Over his shoulder, Alec saw Kiera sit up, rubbing at her eyes. Izzy sat on the bed and they hugged silently. Mia was taking Niall’s pulse, bending over his bed.

               Then the heavy oak doors to the infirmary opened and the Lightwoods entered. And Alec realized he wasn’t going to get to sleep any time soon, if the unfamiliar redhead following them was any indication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW OKAY SO A CERTAIN DICKSHIT REDHEAD MAKES AN APPEARANCE
> 
> The only two characters I hate in TMI are Maryse and Clary. I'm sorry, Clary-fan-kids, but there will be Clace?
> 
> Reviews make more chapters come faster!


	16. The Longest Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a reason for why this is so late, honestly.
> 
> Although I do have fun news! After the completion of this story, there will be a series of bonus scenes, including Alec and Magnus's first /real/ date and their first time (if you feel me). So once this ends, fear not, content will not stop!
> 
> Please read and review, the next chapter is already in the works so it shouldn't be such a long gap this time!
> 
> Love you guys, don't kill meeeee

               Then the heavy oak doors to the infirmary opened and the Lightwoods entered. And Alec realized he wasn’t going to get to sleep any time soon, if the unfamiliar redhead following them was any indication.

               Magnus slowly rose to his feet. Maryse was at the head of the group, Robert slightly behind her and Max trailing them. But what caught and held Alec’s attention was the girl behind Max.

               She had feathered red hair that cascaded in gentle curls around her shoulders, falling to just below her breasts. Her eyes were a muted green, almost teal, unlike Declan’s, which shone like the purest emeralds. She had on black battlegear pants but a black hoodie and a Sherpa vest zipped to her chin, her hair pulled neatly around her face. She stood significantly shorter than Robert, but only an inch or so below Maryse. She had long, slim hands, like painter’s hands.

               “Who’s this?” Magnus said, sounding somewhat wary.

               “How are the Branwells?” Maryse demanded of Izzy, almost cutting off her adoptive son. Magnus’ fists clenched. The redhead shot a look at her turned back and stepped around her as she and Izzy talked, walking up to Magnus. She had to stop about two feet away to not have to comically crane her head.

               “Clary Fairchild,” she said, holding out a hand. Magnus smiled his most charming smile and took her hand in both of his.

               “Magnus Lightwood, a pleasure,” he said. He did a half turn and gestured to Alec. “Alexander Bane.”

               “High Warlock,” Clary said with a knowing smile, coming around to shake his hand as well. Her hand was small and warm in Alec’s grip—his suddenly felt large and clumsy.

               “A pleasure,” he murmured. “Pardon my inquiry—where are you from?”

               Something flickered in Clary’s eyes, but it was gone as soon as Alec had caught it. “I’m from the Upper East Side, but I’ve been training at the Academy for a few years.”

               Alec narrowed his eyes slightly, wishing he still had the magic to peer into her head. He gripped her hand tighter and gave it a shot anyway. He caught a flash of a man with dark skin and gold eyes, and a woman who looked just like her but older, and the love but irritation that went with them.

               His head spun and throbbed like someone had just lobbed a rock at it. Wincing, he pulled his hand back like he had been shocked and pressed his fingers into the corners of his eyes.

               “Alexander, are you alright?” Magnus asked immediately.

               “Headache,” he murmured.

               “Clarissa.”

               Clary turned her head. Maryse and Izzy were looking at her. Behind them, Mia and Robert were talking, turning a stele over in their palms. Max perched uncomfortably in the chair by Kiera’s bed and held a comic book to his face. Kiera picked at her nails but kept shooting Max sideways glances.

               “This is my daughter, Isabelle,” she said crisply. The two girls smiled identical smiles and shook delicate hands.

               “My eldest”—there was unnecessary emphasis put on the word—“isn’t here at the moment. He should return soon.” She raised an eyebrow at Alec as if daring him to say anything.

               “Ah, shit,” Magnus growled to himself. He pulled his phone from his pocket and began thumbing through it.

               Alec felt a throb of anger in his heart. Magnus moved behind him and placed his warm hand on his shoulder. The touch was both comforting and warning— _let her be._

               Alec leaned his head back and let it rest against Magnus’ firm abdomen. The Shadowhunter began idly toying with his hair as they watched the new Shadowhuntress. Magnus’ attention was quickly seized, however, by his vibrating phone.

               “I was sent from the Academy to continue my work and studies at an Institute,” Clary explained to Izzy. “As this one is the leading source of information on Valentine and the Circle, not to mention being close to home, I figured this would be as good a place as any.”

               “You can see his ruthlessness firsthand,” Izzy said, gesturing around the room. “These are the Branwells, from London. They were in Idris for family and on their way here, they were ambushed on the Brocelind Plain. We haven’t had a chance to ask about what happened, as they haven’t been conscious or in well-enough condition to talk.”

               Clary nodded, biting one thumbnail. “I’ve heard tell of the destruction he and his followers leave in their wake.” She frowned, stepping up to Declan’s side. “These don’t look like demon wounds,” she said, touching his pale cheek gently, where the claw marks had yet to fully fade.

               “His brother had Mantid wounds,” Magnus said absently, still texting. “That’s what we assume.”

               Clary glanced up at him. “Mantids have two long blades, one on each forearm, that they control independently of each other.”

               Alec sat up, brow furrowing. “Are you suggesting…?”

               “These look like werewolf claws.” Clary’s voice was quiet but it echoed through the infirmary like a gunshot. “That means Valentine has werewolf allies.”

 

Alec collapsed facedown onto one of the Institute’s beds, his body numb and his mind spinning. A headache was pulsing at the base of his skull. He felt like he hadn’t slept in years, and the lack of magic in his body was pulling at his bones like he had just run a marathon. Magnus had stated that Jace was on his way roughly ten minutes prior, giving Alec a chance to slip out as he spoke to Clary.

               He wasn’t sure what room he was in, nor whether it belonged to anyone else. The way the bedsheets smelled—of old books and dust and dryer sheets—led him to believe that it was unoccupied. Alec pulled a pillow to his chest and buried his head in it, desperate to stave off the migraine he felt was coming. He was so focused on how cold the pillow felt against his flushed cheeks that he didn’t hear the door open until a voice sounded behind him.

               “Alexander.”

               Alec made an indiscernible noise into the pillow. He felt the bed dip behind him and a warm hand touched his shoulder. It sent shivers through his body and raised goosebumps on his neck. He turned his sore neck and peeked over one shoulder, pleased to see Magnus looking at him in slight amusement.

               “I can understand being exhausted, but Alexander,” he reprimanded gently, “if you fall asleep in your going-out clothes, you will not get good rest.”

               “I’m too tired to change,” Alec mumbled, burying his face into the warm shoulder of his sweater.

               “Then at least take off your coat.” Magnus tugged at the collar. “You haven’t removed it since we arrived.”

               To be frank, it was something Alec had forgotten about. He pushed himself upright and shucked off the heavy woolen coat. Magnus took it and, standing, hung it on the back of the door.

               “Magnus…there’s something I want to ask you.” With everything that had happened, Alec’s speculations from that morning had been the furthest thing from his mind. Alec linked his fingers and spun his thumbs around each other.

               “What is it?” Magnus’ fingers found his shirtsleeves, tracing each stitch and line of the fabric. It was so absent his face didn’t betray any preoccupation—his whole attention was focused on Alec’s face. For some reason, that realization brought color to his cheeks. Alec looked down quickly, at his thumbs brushing together.

               “I’ve been doing some research,” Alec said, “after we talked to Maryse and Robert in Idris.”

               “I wondered what those books on your counter were for.” Magnus sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. “Are you wondering if you can find out who your father is?”

               Alec nodded slowly. “I…might have a bit of a lead.”

               Magnus’ eyebrows raised. “Might you now?”

               Alec linked his hands behind his head and fell over backwards. “Have you gotten the same vibe I have from Maryse and Robert—that their marriage…?”

               “Is falling apart at the seams?” Magnus finished flatly. “More than a vibe. If they’re in the same room they’re fighting about some shit. Been that way for a year or so.”

               Alec didn’t know how to respond. Magnus’s matter-of-fact tone caught him off-guard.

               “Well,” he finally continued. “I’ve cross-referenced everything I could find pertaining to the Princes of Hell. Maybe it’s a bit far-fetched, but I’m suspecting Asmodeus, the Prince of Lust.” Alec walked Magnus through his thought process; he was pleased to see that the Shadowhunter seemed to agree. At least he wasn’t completely off his rocker.

               “I think that’s a solid lead,” Magnus said. “I suppose you don’t really have a way to prove it, though.”

               Alec thought of a scroll shoved haphazardly between his couch cushions, where it had gone before he had answered the door. “I suppose not,” he said quietly.

               “Hey.” Magnus swung around and leaned over Alec, placing a hand on the sheets on either side of his ribs. His gold eyes shone in the half light. “Don’t sweat it. It doesn’t matter who your father is.”

               Alec sighed, placing his hands on Magnus’ upper arms, feeling ropes of muscle beneath his sweater. “I know. Reasonably, I do. It’s just—I feel like there’s a part of me missing, not knowing.”

               “Then we’ll figure it out.” Magnus lowered himself onto Alec’s chest, pressing a kiss onto his jaw. “If it means that much to you, we’ll figure it out.”

               “This isn’t your fight,” he murmured into a mess of black hair. _God, he smells so good._

               “It’s your fight. Therefore, it’s mine. We’re in this together now.” Magnus raised his head and smiled. “Now come on. I believe we got interrupted before.”

               Alec smiled as Magnus stole another kiss. Of course he was being ridiculous. His fight was Magnus’, and Magnus’ were his. They were in this together.

               Except the scroll. That was Alec’s secret, and his alone.

 

Isabelle woke a few hours later still exhausted but too wired to lay still. She sat up, blinking sleep out of her eyes, and looked over at the clock. It was only five a.m.; the skyline out her window was still dark.

               She swung her legs out of bed and rose, stretching. _Might as well go check on the Branwells._

Jace had arrived just after Alec and Magnus had disappeared, half-put-together but looking less exhausted than when he had left. He bitched about only getting two hours of sleep, but it had seemed halfhearted. Once he and Clary had begun to chat, she had slipped away.

               It took only a couple minutes to comb her hair into a sloppy ponytail and change into something more presentable. She came out of her bedroom to find Magnus coming down the hallway toward her. He looked just as tired as she, in a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. His hair was down for once, and his face devoid of makeup.

               “Did you sleep any?” she asked. He smirked a little.

               “Nah, not much,” he said coyly. “But for good reason.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to know,” she sighed. “Coming to see what’s going on?”

               His smile faded. “It seems like everything’s just gone to shit.” As they walked, he put his hands deep in his sweatpants pockets and tossed his brushed hair from his eyes. “I feel like we’re on the edge of a war, Izzy. And I don’t know what to do.”

               She shook her head mutely. “If it comes to a war, I don’t know if there’s much we can do.”

               “Do you think what Clary said is true? That Valentine has werewolves working for him?”

               “If he does, we at least have the Praetor on our side.”

               “The famed Wolf Guard,” Magnus said with a chuckle. “You know, I have yet to meet a member of theirs.”

               “I would have thought you would have met them after you left Indonesia,” Izzy asked slowly. Magnus had never talked about why he had left the Jakarta Institute—as far as she and Jace knew, he didn’t exist until he landed in London with the Branwells.

               Magnus shook his head. “I just went from Indonesia to London,” he said, vague as ever.

               Jace was standing in the hallway outside one of the guest rooms when Izzy and Magnus appeared around the corner. He turned toward his siblings and smiled. It was a welcome sight to Izzy, who hadn’t seen it in quite some time. She smiled back.

               “Clary went to bed,” he said softly. A darker emotion clouded his eyes. “Evidently, Valentine has her mother.”

               “Oh, Angel,” Izzy gasped, pressing her hands to her mouth. Ice settled in her stomach. Were there no ends to his cruelty?

               “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch,” Magnus growled, hands clenching.

               “The Branwells are feeling better,” Jace continued. “Niall was starting to wake up when I left. Mia stayed with him. Declan’s also sleeping a lot easier. Looks like Alec is a miracle worker after all.”

               “Is she still awake?” Izzy asked, lowering her hands. She wrapped them around each other so the boys couldn’t see their shaking. “I told that girl to get some sleep.”

               “She was asleep for a few hours,” Jace reassured her. “She insisted I wake her up at five, so I did just as I escorted Clary here. I was actually coming to get you, Magnus.”

               He blinked. “Me? What for?”

               “I figured you would want to be there when Declan wakes up,” he said with a light shrug. “I was going to go see if I could get some more sleep before dawn.” He walked past them, touching Magnus lightly on the shoulder as he headed toward his own room.

               Isabelle looked down at her hands clasped at her waist. She couldn’t imagine what Clary was going through. If that was her mother… She shook her head to dismiss the thought. She couldn’t worry herself stupid over something that wasn’t going to happen.

               “Izzy?”

               She raised her head. Magnus was already a few steps ahead of her.

               “Are you okay?” he asked.

               “Fine.” She smiled and strode after him. “Nothing to worry about.”

 

Declan was suddenly coughing. He rolled onto his side and coughed until his head felt like it was going to split and his hands shook. Gasping, he opened his eyes and pushed himself up onto an elbow, wiping saliva from his lips.

               “Here! Water.” A straw was suddenly held to his face and too stunned to jerk away, he drank. The water was wonderfully cool and fresh, and he drank until the straw spluttered with air. He sat back and looked blearily up at his water-bearing guest.

               She had curled blonde hair pulled back into a haphazard ponytail at the crown of her head and soft brown eyes. There was a handful of freckles across her nose and cheekbones, and a scar running down her jaw. She smiled.

               “My name’s Mia. Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

               “Declan,” he said hoarsely. He glanced around. “Where am I?”

               “New York,” she replied. “You and your family Portaled into the Institute from Idris directly. You were—badly hurt.”

               _That’s right. The Circle attacked us._ Declan felt his stomach flip as he recalled the fight. There had been so many of them, materializing from nowhere. Shadowhunters, demons, and werewolves alike. He and Niall had started back-to-back, but they had gotten separated. He didn’t even know how.

               A werewolf had lunged at him, slashing claws down his face. He remembered losing a lot of his sight, and fearing blindness. At that point, he had begun slashing wildly, stabbing at fur and flesh and skin. Blood had run into his mouth from his nose. Everything tasted and smelled like copper. Something in his mind had rationalized that his blood was blinding him. He had been so desperate to hope that it was his blood.

               Something had cut his hand, and he had dropped his seraph blade. He heard Kiera shriek, and his blood had gone cold. _Not_ his little sister.

               He shouted for Niall, for help because he couldn’t see a damned thing. He tripped over something and went down swinging. Something else pierced his leg, and he heard the shrieking of a Mantid over his head. He felt insect-like jaws tearing at his shoulder, at his arm, at his battlegear. He kicked, thrashed, tried to swing but one arm wasn’t responding.

               Then he was coughing.

               “Declan?”

               “Where’s everyone else?” he demanded, sitting up fully, arms shaking. One elbow gave out and he collapsed onto it, groaning. “Niall, and Kiera—Mom and Dad.”

               “They’re okay, Declan, please calm down,” Mia begged, putting her hands on his shoulders and standing over him. “You have to relax, you’re in no state to be up and about,”

               “Damn it,” he groaned, falling back down. “Damn it, damn it all. I couldn’t even protect them.”

               “That isn’t your fault.”

               He opened his eyes. Niall was standing off to one side, leaning heavily on a crutch. He had a new pair of sweatpants on and a bandage wrapped around his chest. He had a faint bruise under one eye, and a bandage on his forehead.

               “There were too many of them,” he said, shaking his head. “The only reason we were able to escape was by Portaling out. We luckily weren’t far from the edge of Alicante, so once we ducked back inside the wards, the Circle disappeared and we made it into one of the stationary Portals.” He sat down on the edge of Declan’s bed with a sharp exhale. “Thankfully, Isabelle was just outside of the Sanctuary and heard us Portal in.”

               “Is Kiera okay?” Declan asked.

               “Beaten like the rest of us, but alive. She and Mom and Dad went to wash up about ten minutes ago,” he explained.

               “I took them to the guest rooms and came back just as you were waking up, Declan,” Mia replied. “Niall had woken up before I left.”

               “I insisted on staying until you got up. I figured you would panic when you woke up.” He smiled. “How are you feeling?”

               “All things considered? Pretty great,” he groaned. “Is…Magnus here?”

               “He is now.”

               Declan looked over and saw Isabelle and the aforementioned Shadowhunter striding into the Institute. Magnus quickened his pace as his eyes met Declan’s and came to his side, kneeling by the bed.

               “How do you feel?” he asked. “We tried to heal you the best we could.”

               “We?” he asked, pushing himself back up to an elbow.

               “Alexander,” Magnus clarified. “He had to magic the poison out of your bloodstream for you to heal. Your body was rejecting _iratzes_ because of it.” He reached out and gently touched his cheek with soft, tanned fingertips. The feeling sent sparks across his skin. “You’ve got scars here.”

               Declan reached up and felt his face. Thankfully, both of his eyes seemed to be intact. He could definitely feel tight, damaged skin where the werewolf’s claws had torn through.

               “Did it hurt my charmingly good looks?” he asked cockily. Magnus chuckled, shaking his head.

               “Nor did it your ego, evidently,” he teased. Declan laughed lightly, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

               “I guess I owe Alec a thank-you,” he said. “Where is he?”

               “Sleeping.” This time it was Isabelle who spoke. “I think we all need to at this point. I’ll order something and have it delivered—we all need to eat and get some rest. Once we’ve done that, we can talk about where to go from here.”

               Niall rose to his feet, Mia supporting him on one side and the crutch on the other.

               “What’s wrong with you?” Declan asked.

               “Broken leg,” Niall replied. “The _iratze_ healed most of it but it still hurts to walk on. I’m going to go shower, little brother.” He smiled tiredly. “Then I might try to get some sleep.”

               “Are you coming, Magnus?” Isabelle asked, phone already to her ear. Magnus shook his head, dropping into a chair by Declan’s bed.

               “I’ll stay here. Just bring me some breakfast?” he asked. She nodded and walked out with Mia and Niall. Magnus sat back in the chair and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

               “Tired?” Declan asked, laying back down and adjusting the pillow so it didn’t press into his stiff shoulder—the one the Mantid had torn open. The fact that it had any mobility at all was shocking. He was certain it was torn beyond repair. He _really_ owed Alec a thank-you.

               “I don’t think I could sleep if I could tried. You should, though,” Magnus continued. “I’m way too wired.” He yawned, contradicting his prior statement.

               “I don’t want to sleep,” Declan muttered. “I’m going to have nightmares for the rest of my life. That was…surreal. Even for me.”

               “As a horror movie fanatic, I figured there was very little that would do that to you anymore,” Magnus joked. When Declan didn’t respond, he sighed and put his chin on one fist. “I feel like we’re going to have more battles like this before this is over. It’s so senseless.”

               “War is wretched beyond description,” Declan murmured, “and only a fool or a fraud could sentimentalize it’s cruel reality.”

               Magnus knew he was right. Watching Declan lay there, staring at the ceiling, no doubt playing the entire battle over and over in his head, his heart broke. He felt so small, so very helpless, so very weak. So he began to hum.

               Declan looked over. “I recognize that,” he said faintly. “Isn’t that one of those lullabies you used to sing every night while you were showering?”

               Magnus smiled. “My mother’s favorite.”

               Declan closed his eyes. “How does it go again?” he whispered. “ _Nina bobo, ah, nina bobo…”_

               “I didn’t think you’d still remember the words,” he replied. “Yes, that’s it. _Nina bobo, ah, nina bobo,_ _kalau tidak bobo,_ _digigit nyamuk…_ ”

               And Magnus sang it, very quietly and with the words he sang to himself for several years, until Declan’s breathing had evened out. For years, Magnus’ singing had been the only thing that had made Declan calm when he woke with night terrors.

               That’s how Magnus fell asleep as well, curled up in the chair with the song playing his head, seeing his mother’s face as she sang it over him, every night until he was ten.

               For once, his mother’s face didn’t morph into that awful recurring nightmare it tended to. For once, his mind allowed him to see days in the market with her, watching her work in the garden, swimming in the lake with her, helping her milk the cows. Watching her laugh.

               And for once in a very long time, Magnus slept well.


	17. Return to Alicante

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait until next week to post this but I got so excited I couldn't wait to post it. I also have a final chapter count! The next one will be the last one~!
> 
> H O W E V E R
> 
> Outcast hasn't ended! I'll be posting another story with a bunch of oneshots and extra content from this world, including Malec's first real date! So make sure to follow that one!!
> 
> This chapter and the next chapter are quite lengthy so I can tie up a lot of loose ends. The final chapter is already almost finished too, so you won't have to wait very long to find out what happens in the end!
> 
> Comments and kudos~! Love you guys!

Alec woke with the sun directly in his face, his head pounding and his stomach churning. He groaned and rolled over, clutching his stomach.

               “I hate hangovers,” he grumbled under his breath. Something small jumped up on the bed and he reached out to pet Chairman.

               He was greeted with teeth sinking into his palm.

               He let out a yell and flailed away, sliding off the back edge of the bed and landing on the floor in a tangle of blankets and legs. Church settled down onto the recently vacated bed, purring softly.

               “You dick,” Alec groaned. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you, and here you go and bite me.” He sat up, feeling his hand throb in time to his head. “God, I knew I was going to regret that potion this morning.”

               He managed to make it to the bathroom and only dry-heaved once before his shower. He stood there under the hot water, letting it pour over his sore muscles and run through his messy hair. He tipped his face up into it, and the thrumming of the water drowned out other thoughts in his head.

               Heat flushed his body as he recalled the night before. He smiled into the water and bit his thumbnail, playing it over until the shower felt too hot against his skin.

               Sometime after that, Magnus, who Alec had felt had been restless and coiled the whole time, had risen from bed and left the room. His smile faded. He should have gotten up with him.

               Alec finished his shower and redressed in his clothes from the night before, which had been abandoned on the floor. He hastily towel-dried his hair and ducked from the room.

               The hallways of the Institute were quiet. After the events of the night before, it was far _too_ quiet. He recalled from years before when guests would arrive, the Institute would always be bustling with activity—children playing and shrieking, the clatter and clash of weapons in the training room, laughter and chatter from the library and kitchens. Every lamp would be lit and the Institute would be warm.

               Today, however, the lamps were all dim. The only light that entered was from the tall windows, piled high with snow, letting the weak winter sun in. There was no laughter now, no children’s shouting, no smells of breakfast being cooked and no sparring cries from the weapons room.

               Alec shivered and crossed his arms over his chest, heading for the library. If they were anywhere, it would be there.

               He put a hand on the handle of the heavy oak doors and heard muted voices from inside. Pausing, he leaned in to listen, more to make sure he wasn’t interrupting a private conversation.

               Robert’s voice drifted out first.

               “…extreme, Maryse.”

               “Extreme?” Her voice was thick with derision. “Since _when_ have our doors been open to every stray Downworlder that happens to turn up?”

               _Of course they’re talking about me._ Alec closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the door.

               “With all due respect, Maryse, he isn’t a ‘stray’,” came a new voice. “Alexander holds a position on the High Warlock Council. In all fairness, he is more of a dignitary.”

               “His name is Alec, darling.” Sara Branwell sounded tired.

               “Really? Magnus calls him Alexander.”

               “He does do that,” Alec muttered to himself, smiling. He now assumed that the unfamiliar man was David Branwell, Declan’s father.

               “I agree,” Robert said firmly. “And he brings the support of the Council. Have you even _thought_ about what would happen to our shaky truce with the warlocks if we disrespected Alec by throwing him out? The Council would revoke their support in an instant.”

               There was a long silence. Alec prepared himself to make an entrance.

               “I wouldn’t do that.”

               Alec jumped so hard he physically jerked back from the door, spinning around. Kiera was standing behind him, her arms crossed and her nose stuck in the air. She was frowning at him.

               “I don’t think we’ve met” was all Alec could say.

               “My name’s Kiera,” she said. “And you’re Alec Bane.”

               “I guess now we have,” he said, defeated. “Where is everyone else?”

               She shrugged. “Maxwell and I were in the library until a few minutes ago, when Mom kicked us out, saying the adults had some talking to do.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand _why_ we had to leave. It’s not like we’re deaf or dumb.”

               “What do you mean?” Alec asked.

               “They like to pretend we don’t know about the war,” she clarified. “I spent long enough in Alicante that I could see the steps they’re taking against Valentine. There’s a war brewing, Alec.”

               Alec looked down. “I know.”

               “Whose side are you on?”

               His head jerked up. “What?” he asked sharply. She didn’t flinch.

               “When the war starts, whose side of the battlefield will you be on?” she repeated. “Ours, or his?”

               “How could you even ask that?” he demanded, forgetting for a moment he was talking to a child, only twelve. _Too young to be exposed to this_.

               “No one would _blame_ you for siding with Valentine,” Kiera continued. She met his gaze unflinchingly. “Your mother kicked you out and you’ve received nothing but rejection and hatred from the Upworld. Then a Shadowhunter comes along and promises you equality, a chance to get back at the people who rejected you and forced you into a shadowy corner of the Downworld. You had everything, and they took it from you. I would have taken the chance.” She inclined her head. “So why say no?”

               Alec stared at her. Everything she said made far too much sense. Why _didn’t_ he accept Valentine’s offer? Maybe if he had, Ragnor wouldn’t have had to die. He would be able to inflict the same kind of damage on Maryse that she did to him. He could have settled the score.

               He thought about Adal. Adal, who once had trusted the Upworld, who had experienced so much hate and cruelty at the hands of the Nazis that it had made him completely unable to even believe there was any good left. He had been one of the first to veto Alec’s proposition of alignment with the Clave.

               _I cannot forgive the Nephilim. I cannot trust them, and I will not ever let my guard down around them._

               So why hadn’t he? He hadn’t ever been shown kindness by the Nephilim. Valentine was the first to extend his hand. Why _hadn’t_ he taken it? Adal had made his choice. What stopped Alec from doing the same?

               But she was wrong. Valentine’s cruelty on the night of the meeting proved that he didn’t respect Downworlders. Maybe the Upworld didn’t either, but they at least stayed within certain boundaries. Valentine shattered those boundaries and disrupted the peace of the Downworld, driving an even bigger wedge through the Shadow World. His experience at the Council meeting had proven as much.

               He thought about Isabelle, Jace, Magnus, Max. Had he sided with Valentine, they would have undoubtedly met in battle. He knew in his heart of hearts he could never hurt any of them. Even if he really believed, deep in his core, that they were wrong, he would have hesitated. He would have stopped.

               “You’re going to make a good politician one day,” he told her. She raised her eyebrows. “But you’re wrong,” he continued with a smile. “I may have lost everything at one point, but I have it again. And I wouldn’t have sided with Valentine for his empty promises of equality. Even if we lose, I would rather lose here than win over there.”

               She shrugged again. “Figured I would ask,” she replied, indifferent. “Listening to Mom and Dad argue with the Lightwoods made me wonder about you.” She turned and walked away. About three feet down the hall, she broke into a run and sprinted around the corner. Alec stood watching her, long after she had disappeared.

               “She’s intense as hell,” he said to himself.

               “Isn’t she?”

               Alec jumped again and staggered away. “You people have to _stop that!_ ” he shouted. David Branwell laughed, holding the door for his wife. Alec caught a glimpse of Maryse sitting at the desk and Robert turning away from her before Sara closed it.

               “I mean it,” he said with a weak laugh. “If I hang around here too much, I’ll lose a few years off my lifespan. And I’m immortal. That’s saying something.”

               Looking at David and Sara, he could tell that the boys took more after their mother, with her blonde hair and blue-green eyes. David was much more like Kiera, with chocolate hair and intense eyes hidden behind thick-framed glasses.

               “I don’t believe we’ve formally met,” David said, holding out a hand. “David Branwell, of London.”

               “Alexander Bane, of Brooklyn,” Alec replied cheekily, shaking his hand. It was heavy and calloused—a fighter’s hand. It just reminded Alec of how out of place he was here.

               “We’ve tried to shield her from the horrible things that are happening,” Sara said, taking her husband’s hand in hers and leaning against him as if she could hardly stand to support herself. “The battle yesterday must have been such a shock to her. I just don’t want my little girl to get hurt.”

               David moved his arm around her shoulders. “I know, honey.”

               “We’re warriors, though,” Alec said without thinking. “It’s part of the job description.”

               “I forgot you were raised a Shadowhunter,” Sara commented. “It must be strange, being back in the Institute.”

               “All things considered, not as weird as you would assume,” he replied with a shrug. “Plus, weird is my daily. You should see some of my clients.” Alec raised a hand and began to turn away. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go find my siblings.”

               As he walked away, Sara said to her husband, “Did you hear her talking last night? She and Max are planning to become _parabatai_ now.”

               “They’ll make a good pair,” David commented.

               “If she’s still on this at the end of the war, we’ll have to arrange the ceremony,” Sara said. Their voices drifted away as they headed in the opposite direction.

               “I guess they are at that age,” Alec mused. He could easily picture Max and Kiera fighting side-by-side, _parabatai_ runes glowing as they fight as one being. He smiled. “I’ll have to attend that ceremony.”

 

He found everyone else sitting in the ops room, poring over spreadsheets and data. He came down the stairs, rolling up his sleeves as he did. Magnus was the first to catch his eye, standing and greeting him with a hug.

               “Did you get any rest last night?” Alec whispered in his ear as they embraced.

               “A little,” he murmured back. “You?”

               “A little,” he echoed with a smile. They pulled apart, but Magnus took his hand and they sat together, holding hands under the table. “What are we on about?” Alec asked the table at large.

               “We’re planning on going to Alicante,” Jace said. Immediately, the table exploded.

               “No preamble?” Niall asked immediately, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation.

               “We could have preambled a little,” Izzy concurred.

               “I disagree,” Declan said, crossing his arms. “It’s the best course of action.”

               “Hold on—,” Alec tried, shifting uncomfortably.

               “It is not,” Magnus said, rapping his knuckles on the table. “We have to stay here.”

               “Alicante is safer,” Clary stated, green eyes wide. “Valentine can’t get into there.”

               “We need to slow down!” Izzy shouted, pointing at Jace. “You said it yourself, there’s more room and more info here!”

               “Guys, let’s calm down—”

               “I _also_ said that information is portable,” Jace snapped back. “Taking it to the townhouse would be better—we’d also have all of Alicante at our disposal.”

               “We can’t go there!” Niall shouted at the same time Declan piped in with, “We have to go back.”

               The brothers then began arguing amongst themselves, rising to their feet as their voices got louder.

               Alec slammed a hand onto the table. Sparks rocketed from it and he shouted, _“EVERYONE, SHUT UP.”_

               Silence fell immediately. There were a few grumbles from Declan and a hissed swear from Jace, but they all turned to look at him.

               “If we have to run this like a Council meeting, we will,” Alec continued sharply, “but we’re not going to accomplish anything but shouting at each other. You two, sit down.”

               Niall dropped immediately into his chair, eyes wide. Declan crossed his arms and made it clear he didn’t want to but sat down anyway.

               “Now who can _civilly_ tell me what the hell we’re talking about? Not you,” he said to Jace as the blond immediately opened his mouth. “Isabelle.”

               She sighed as Jace spluttered in irritation. At a look from Magnus, he gritted his teeth and sat back.

               “We’re discussing whether or not to go to Alicante.”

               “I gathered,” he said with an eyebrow raised.

               She shot him a playfully irked look. “What I _mean_ is: some of us want to go to Alicante and work there. The city is more protected, what with the demon wards and all. However, I believe if we go to Alicante, if the Clave finds out about our work, we’ll get shut down or it’ll all be seized. You know as well as I, Alec, that the Clave likes to do things itself.

               “Not to mention, with all the powerful Shadowhunters staying and working there, that’ll be Valentine’s next target. Probably his _final_ target. When the war breaks, it’ll be in Alicante. I get wanting to go so we can be there as soon as the fighting starts, but we can’t leave the Institute unguarded. As soon as he finds out there’s no one here to defend it, it’ll be the fall of the New York Institute.”

               “That’s where we stand,” Declan put in. Alec noted with a bit of a wince that his face was scarred. It wasn’t as bad as it had been the night before, but he would always have faint white scars. “Jace, Clary, and I want to go back.”

               “Magnus, Niall, and myself want to stay,” Izzy finished. “So we’re at a stalemate.”

               Alec cupped his chin with his free hand. They both had a point.

               “All due respect, Alexander,” Magnus broke in, “I believe if— _if_ —we go to Alicante, you shouldn’t come.”

               Alec turned to him, eyes wide. “Why not?”

               “Right now, you’re the dignitary to the High Warlock Council,” he said reasonably. “It would be best for you to stay in neutral territory.”

               “I disagree,” Declan said slowly. “If he were in the Glass City, I believe it would show the Clave the warlocks really _do_ stand with us. He can talk with the higher-ups and when the rest of the Council joins us—er, you—they’ll be more willing to enter Alicante, and the Shadowhunters will be more willing to accept them.”

               “I think Declan’s right, for once,” Niall added. Declan shot him a dirty look, but it faded into a smirk as he shook his head. “Maybe you should meet with the Inquisitor in person.”

               “No,” Alec said, shaking his head. “That’s a job for the Council Head, not me. I can get them into the city, but that’s as far as my work will go. And that’s even if Maddox will want to come.”

               “He seems like a reasonable guy,” Magnus commented. “Could you fire-message him?”

               “I will. But we’re getting off track,” Alec said. “To go or not to go.”

               “That is the question,” Jace added with a nod.

               “I hate _Hamlet_ ,” Izzy grumbled.

               “I think we should,” Alec continued. “With the threat of the war looming closer and closer, we need to be as close to the heart of it as possible. Plus, what we’ve been saying about bringing the Council in—I don’t think Maddox will listen to me if we aren’t there already, if it’s all hypothetical.”

               Magnus bit a nail. Niall was beginning to nod slowly. Izzy looked hesitant, but Alec knew she was reasoning through it.

               Alec crossed his legs and kicked something that yelped sharply. Startled, everyone began looking about. Magnus pushed his wheeled chair away and looked under the table.

               “What on _Earth—?_ ” He ducked under the table and with a shout, dragged two somethings out. Max and Kiera jerked away from him and brushed off, straightening up.

               “Ki, what are you doing?” Declan demanded as Jace snapped, “ _Max!_ ”

               “We got kicked out of the library!” Kiera shouted.

               “We weren’t going to be left completely in the dark!” Max snapped. “We’re almost adults too!”

               “There’s no point in kicking them out now,” Izzy said with a sigh, rubbing her face in her hands. “They’ve already heard everything, and twenty bucks says they’ve both already made up their minds.”

               “You’re darned right,” Kiera said firmly.

               “We want to go to Alicante,” Max said. “We need to be where the fight is.”

               There was a general pause.

               “They’re right,” Magnus sighed. “I know they are.”

               “I wouldn’t think you’d want to go back, Ki,” Niall said. “After what happened.”

               She shook her head. “That’s why we _need_ to go back. We know what Valentine has now. You _saw_ how close he already was. There’s no telling how much closer he’ll get by the time we finish bickering.”

               Alec rose to his feet. “I’m going to go send a fire-message,” he announced. “My vote is for leaving. Let me know what you all decide.” He turned to the kids. “Come on, you two. Let’s go and let these grouches finish fighting.”

 

Alec frowned at another piece of paper, then crumpled it up and cast it aside into the slowly growing pile in the trashcan by the desk. Why was this so difficult?

               He knew reasonably all he really had to do was message Maddox with a date and a time and tell him if he wanted to come, they would be in Alicante. He just hoped the High Warlock would respond in time.

               He finally settled for something short.

               _Maddox:_

_The New York and London Institutes are going to Alicante. I will be accompanying them. I feel it would be beneficial for you to speak for the Council to the Inquisitor and the Clave. I can get you an audience. Please respond as soon as you can._

_Bane_

               He sighed, deciding that was as good as it was going to get, and with a snap of his fingers, set it ablaze. As soon as the last few sparks faded, there was a knock on the door to his room and Magnus entered. He had changed into full battlegear and had a few weapons strapped to him.

               “Your arguments won them over,” he said softly. “We’re leaving in an hour.”

               Alec rose to his feet. “Are we staying at the townhouse?”

               “It isn’t big enough for all of us,” he said, shaking his head. “Some of us are staying at the Branwells’ home. You’re welcome to stay there with us.”

               “You’re staying with the Branwells?” Alec asked.

               “I don’t want to stay with Maryse and Robert,” he said instead.

               “What’s wrong?” Alec approached him, not missing the way he refused to make eye contact. “Magnus?”

               “I’m really…afraid, Alexander.” His voice was barely a whisper. Alec flicked a finger and the door latched behind him. Magnus stepped into him and put his arms around Alec’s neck, pressing his face into the warlock’s shoulder. “I’m so afraid,” he mumbled. “I’ve never been so afraid of a fight.”

               Alec hugged him tightly. “What are you so afraid of? We’ll win.”

               “Not without casualties,” Magnus said, fists clenching in Alec’s shirt. “Alexander, I’m finally starting to feel like I’ve found a place to belong. What if we lose that? What if we win but we lose—everybody?”

               “Well, with a mentality like that,” Alec teased, kissing his forehead. “Magnus, it’ll be okay. I swear it. I swear on your Angel.”

               “That doesn’t mean anything coming from a Downworlder,” Magnus groaned, hitting a fist lightly against his shoulder. “That’s empty words.”

               “Then I swear on—on Chairman,” Alec said solemnly. Magnus snorted. “I swear on my rampant alcoholism. I swear on—on…”

               “On your lack of a deity?” Magnus supplied. He sounded like he was smiling, though.

               “That too.” Alec pulled back and kissed him gently. “Come on. We’ll win this and we’ll all survive, and after that, I’ll take you on a date.”

               “On a date?” Magnus said, raising his eyebrows.

               “Yes!” Alec grinned. “We have yet to have a real date. I’ll take you on a _real_ date, one where we do something shitty and go to dinner, and then come back and talk about how shitty it was and get drunk and watch reruns of _Gilligan’s Island_ on TV.”

               “I’ve never seen that show,” Magnus said with a smile.

               “It’ll be your new favorite,” Alec insisted.

               “I’ll hold you to that.” Magnus gripped both of Alec’s hands in his. “Promise me we’ll get through this. Together and alive.”

               “Together and alive,” Alec vowed. “Now come on. Wipe that doubt off your face. I’m supposed to be the pessimist in this relationship.”

               “Okay.” Magnus took a deep breath and chuckled. “Okay, I’m good.”

               Alec opened the door and Magnus exited first. Alec ducked back in to grab his coat. Before he could reach for it, a small piece of paper blazed into existence in front of him. Surprised, Alec took it in hand and shook off some of the trailing sparks, unfolding it. The more he read the bigger he grinned until he finished.

               Snatching up his coat, he raced after Magnus, clutching the paper in a tight fist.

 

They Portaled into the Gard, where special wards had been set up to let Alec through. They were escorted into Angel Square, where they stood talking under the statue of Raziel. Alec pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and began to hastily scrawl a note to Maddox. David and Robert had gone to request an audience with the Inquisitor while Sara talked to the guards about the arrival of the Council Head.

               Alec sent the paper up in a blaze and with a grin at Magnus, sped back into the Gard (under heavy guard, as usual for a Downworlder) to await Maddox’s arrival.

               Alec wasn’t waiting very long when someone arrived who could only be the Inquisitor. He was wearing the ceremonial gray robes, but past that, he was a very inconspicuous man. He was short and very round, with a shiny bald head. David and Robert were behind him, and several heavily armed Shadowhunters flanked them.

               “My name is Inquisitor Aldertree,” he said without preamble. “I take it you’re the dignitary I am supposed to speak to? Maddox Pride?”

               “Ah—no,” Alec said awkwardly, holding out a hand. “Alexander Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn.”

               Aldertree ignored his hand. “When is your leader supposed to arrive then?”

               Alec frowned. _Rude._ “Maddox will be arriving soon,” he said, lowering his hand to his side. “He’ll be Portaling in here.”

               He sneered very slightly. “Downworlders are only supposed to enter the city through the north gate,” he said.

               “With all due respect, Inquisitor, the north gate is closed, as it has been for weeks,” Alec replied. “However, if you would like to dismiss Maddox and send him back around, I’m sure you could do that.”

               “Oh, I wouldn’t like that very much,” Maddox said, having just stepped through the Portal, buttoning his shirt cuffs. Cailin Toss stepped out after him, Catarina behind him. To Alec’s great surprise, Adal came last. Each was dressed nicely—Catarina was in a long dress, Cailin in a suit, and Adal in dress pants with a white shirt, threaded through with many colors.

               “I just polished my shoes, after all,” Maddox continued, “and the Plain is awfully muddy.”

               “It would be such a shame to get the hem of my dress dirty,” Catarina murmured, holding it up delicately. “This is new.”

               “And it looks very nice,” Cailin commented politely. Adal nodded in agreement.

               “You didn’t say he would be bringing an entourage,” Aldertree hissed to Alec.

               “I was—unaware,” he stammered, unable to take his eyes off Adal.

               “These are my highest-ranking officers,” Adal introduced them. “And Catarina,” he added. She scowled. He smiled at her. “Along with Bane there, they make up my cabinet,” he finished. “I never attend meetings without them.”

               Alec blinked. He was unaware Maddox considered him a cabinet member. Adal caught his eye and jerked his head aside. Alec stepped to the side as Maddox and Cailin began talking to Aldertree. Catarina slipped away with Adal.

               “What are you doing here?” he asked. “You told me you didn’t want anything to do with the war, Adal.”

               “I might not,” he said, “but the Council’s fight is my fight. If Maddox orders it, regardless of where I stand morally, I will fight with him. Valentine is a threat against us all, Alexander.” He smiled faintly. “Besides, I was the one who convinced Luxor to come as well.”

               “ _Luxor is coming?_ ” Alec demanded. Catarina shushed him.

               “We both managed to convince him,” she said. “We need his power alongside us.”

               “I hate him,” Alec groaned.

               “As do I,” she concurred with a shrug.

               “Bane.”

               Alec jerked his head up. Aldertree and Maddox were both looking at him. Cailin gave him an amiable smile that Alec returned.

               “We are moving to the Inquisitor’s chamber,” Maddox said. “I would like for you to join us. You stand on neutral ground, as the child of Shadowhunters.”

               _Did you have to say that?_ Alec suddenly felt hot as every eye in the Gard turned to him. Shadowhunters began to whisper and point. Cailin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Alec pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead.

               “Oh,” Maddox said, eyes widening. “Should I not have mentioned that?”

 

Aldertree sat at his desk in his quarters high above the city. Behind him, the sun was setting over Alicante. Two guards stood behind the desk on either side of the window, two more at the door, and Alec knew there would be more outside in the hall. Catarina, Cailin, and Adal had been escorted to their quarters, most likely in the Accords Hall’s rooms.

               “What do you offer us, High Warlock?” Aldertree asked. Maddox sat back and crossed his legs. His slim hands gripped the arms of his chair. He looked very at ease.

               Alec, on the other hand, was too wired to sit still. He began to pick at a loose string on the hem of his shirt, uncomfortably aware of the stares of every guard in the room on him. He felt like a zoo animal on display.

               “The entirety of the High Warlock Council,” Maddox stated. “About two dozen of us in total. We will fight with Alicante when the war begins.”

               “Who says there will be a war?” Aldertree demanded.

               “All due respect,” Alec burst in, “but Inquisitor, you can’t ignore what’s been happening! The north gates are closed for a reason! Just yesterday there was an attack on Shadowhunters on the Brocelind Plain by Valentine’s crew. You can’t deny that.”

               “Watch your tongue,” Aldertree snapped. “I don’t have to allow you audience here. This discussion is not with you.”

               “If Bane is not present, you will not have a discussion with the Council at all,” Maddox said coldly. “I would recommend being more careful with how you speak to my officers.” He shot Alec a look and a voice popped into his head— _You were out of turn._

               Alec averted his gaze. He hated that Maddox was a psychic as well.

               “As we were saying.” Aldertree leaned forward. “What makes you think Alicante can’t fight their own fights?”

               “I have been alive for more than a thousand years,” Maddox said. “I have seen empires crumble in a day because of their refusal to acknowledge that there may be a fight they cannot win. Although I was a child, I witnessed the greatest empire the world has ever seen crumble in only a few years. Of course, I am referring to Rome.” He smiled. “We are smaller than Rome, of course, but Valentine is as real a threat as any.”

               Aldertree narrowed his eyes. _He might be self-absorbed and arrogant, but even he must see the sense in Maddox’s argument_ , Alec thought desperately. He cleared his throat. “As a neutral party, might I speak, Inquisitor?”

               He stared at Alec for a long time but finally nodded.

               “Valentine threatens the warlocks as well as the Shadowhunters,” he began slowly. “He has killed Down- and Upworlders alike, discerning nothing between the two races. He has taken Shadowhunters as hostages, murdered mundanes, threatened and followed through on said threats on the Downworld. His forces yesterday included Shadowhunters and Downworlders of all sorts. I do believe that the Shadow World is able to beat him, but the two sides _must_ work together. Just the Upworld is not strong enough nor numerous enough to destroy him alone; the same can be said for the Downworld. If they band together, we could minimize casualties on both sides and end this as quickly as possible.”

               Aldertree sighed. “I see sense in what you’re saying, but I am hesitant to allow so many warlocks into this city,” he said. “What you say is true—Valentine has Downworlders working for him. What is going to prove to me that your High Warlock Council is not one of those allied to his side?”

               “Put me under the Mortal Sword if you must.” Alec spoke before thinking, but his words shocked Maddox and the Inquisitor both. “The Sword would recognize my angel half and test me as it would any Shadowhunter.”

               “Your demon half would fry, Bane. You could go mad,” Maddox warned.

               “That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Alec said. He gripped the arms of his chair so Aldertree couldn’t see his shaking.

               “That won’t be necessary,” the Inquisitor said. “The fact that you would be willing to go to such lengths, even as the child of a powerful family such as the Lightwoods, proves to me that you believe in the alliance we could make here. But be warned, Bane,” he continued. “Should this fall through, it will be your head that I am after.”

               Aldertree stood. Maddox and Alec mocked him. Inwardly, Alec was screaming. He couldn’t believe what he had just suggested and narrowly avoided. Aldertree and Maddox shook hands.

               “You have not made a mistake, Inquisitor,” Maddox said with a smile. “I will call the rest of my ranks; they will arrive by tomorrow morning. On behalf of the entirety of the Downworld, I cannot thank you enough.”

 

Isabelle shrieked.

               “It worked!” Jace shouted, leaping from his chair to throw himself at Alec, nearly knocking them both over. Declan followed suit, throwing all three of them to the couch conveniently situated just behind the warlock.

               “We could actually win this now!” Declan cried, gripping Alec’s shirt and shaking him. “I believed in you, half-breed!”

               “Don’t call me that,” Alec said, only half-joking.

               The house was abuzz with celebration that night, with even Maryse appearing for a brief moment to shake Alec’s hand before leaving to return to her townhouse. Sara and David cooked a meal fit for both families, and everyone celebrated and feasted until nearly dawn.

               Alec and Magnus managed to sneak away for a while, before Alec returned to his room in the Accords Hall.

               “Do you have to stay there?” Magnus asked of him as they sat on the edge of the river separating the houses from the central part of the city. “I don’t see why you can’t stay with us.”

               “It was one of the terms Aldertree made us agree to,” Alec explained. “He doesn’t fully trust us.”

               “Are you guys under guard too?” Magnus commented, rolling his eyes.

               “Probably,” Alec said seriously. He leaned in and kissed Magnus before he could respond. “Come on, let’s not talk about that. Let’s talk about anything else.”

               “Let’s not talk,” Magnus suggested, falling backwards onto the frosty grass. He had his fuzzy hood pulled up against the cold. Alec smiled and rolled over on top of him, bending down to kiss his cheeks turned red by the wind coming off the river.

               “I’m going to miss you,” Magnus sighed as Alec kissed down his cheek and to his jaw.

               “I’m just across the river,” Alec murmured, “and I’ll be over here every second I’m not working with Maddox.”

               “I’d rather you be here with me,” Magnus whispered. “I’m afraid I’ll not be able to sleep. I’m not feeling any better than I was before.”

               Alec paused in his kissing. “Come on, Magnus,” he said, locking their eyes again. “We’ll make it through this, I promise.”

               “When the fighting starts,” Magnus said, wrapping his hands around Alec’s coat, “I’ll come find you.”

               “We’ll find each other,” Alec promised. “We fight together.”

               “You and me,” Magnus smiled, flushing slightly.

               “And after the war ends, we’ll go on a date. I promise.” Alec bent to steal another kiss. “We’ll go see a shitty movie.”

               “I hate the movies,” Magnus laughed between kisses. “They’re always full of awful mundane kids.”

               “You’re so right,” Alec mumbled. “You’re so damn right.”

               “We’ll do something else, like take long walks on the beach.”

               Alec burst out laughing mid-kiss, and they lay there, gasping and laughing until they were in tears.

               “What the hell do normal straight couples do?” Magnus gasped, clutching his stomach.

               “I don’t know,” Alec choked out, brushing tears from his eyes. “But we have all the time in the world to figure it out,” he said. “Once this is over.”

               And they kissed til dawn, murmuring secrets to each other until the sun sparkled through the glass towers and stained the Glass City red and pink with the dawn of a new morning.

 

Two days later, the towers collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to go over the war in a lot of detail. Y'all know what happened there. If you didn't, reread City of Glass.


	18. We Can Be Together, Now and Forever, I Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got on a roll and I didn't stop.
> 
> Here's the last chapter!
> 
> I don't know what I'm going to do with my life anymore. I don't think I've ever.../finished/ something this long. I don't think I've ever WRITTEN something this long.
> 
> So here we go! The final installment of 'Outcast' - The Circle Arc!

“Alexander!” Magnus shouted as a bolt of green magic blasted past him. They had gotten separated at some point, back when Magnus’ _parabatai_ rune had begun to burn like fire against his chest. Magnus held out a hand and blasted a demon back with an arc of blue magic.

               Clary had demonstrated her Alliance rune that morning at the meeting in the Gard, and despite dubious mutterings, Alec and Magnus had been the first two to volunteer to have themselves Marked.

               _“The stronger the bond between the two, the stronger the rune becomes,” she explained, smiling knowingly at them as she Marked Magnus first. Alec’s hand was shaking as he extended it, but Magnus took it in his and steadied it._

_There was a sharp inhale from the whole Gard as the stele touched Alec’s skin. He let out a brief yelp as it burned slightly, but the burn faded into a pleasant tingling sensation. Gasps of wonder rose from the crowd, even more so as when Clary finished the rune, magic began to drip from Magnus’ fingertips._

               Magnus was jerked from the memory as a Shadowhunter was flung by a demon and slammed bodily into him, knocking them both over. Said Shadowhunter paid him no mind, rolling to his feet and throwing himself back into it.

               “Shit,” Magnus groaned, staggering upright and beginning to run again.

               _When the fighting starts, I’ll come find you._

_We fight together._

               Magnus pulled his sword off his back and swung it at a demon in front of him. The Shax fell into two halves and burst into a puddle of ichor. He picked up speed again, slashing and cutting as he went.

               “Alexan—” His next cry was cut off by such an intense pain that he blacked out momentarily and came to face-down on the cobblestones. His _parabatai_ mark was throbbing, burning his skin, tearing like claws and teeth. It was so much worse than the fire-spitting demon from years before. This ripped into his soul, choked him for air, threatened to pull his lungs out of his chest.

               Clutching at it, clawing at it, anything to make it stop, all he could think was _Jace is in trouble Jace is hurt by the Angel what if he’s dead Jace stop Jace Jace_ —

               He dug his fingertips into the rune and shut his eyes hard, begging the Angel to show him anything. He felt the pain move to the center of his chest, tasted blood, heard a girl’s shriek and felt icy water all up his front.

               Magnus let out a shriek as the rune throbbed again, kicking and fighting against himself because _there’s nothing I can do_ —

               “ _Pag-atake!”_

               Magnus gasped at the familiar voice over him. “Alex—an—” Another wave of pain choked him and cut off the warlock’s name.

               And then—it was gone. The pain was gone. Magnus pressed his fingers back into the rune but saw nothing. The rune had faded. He pressed harder and felt skin split under his nails. Nothing. It wasn’t there.

               _No no no no no no no—_

“Magnus, what is it?” Alec demanded, spin-kicking a smaller demon out of the way, beheading another with a spear of magic.

               Magnus staggered upright, gasping. Alec grabbed him and steadied him. His face was bloody and he had a cut on his forehead, but he was otherwise unharmed.

               “Jace,” Magnus whispered brokenly. “I can’t see him anymore.”

               Alec’s eyes got wide. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re wrong.”

               “I—” Magnus was swamped with another bolt of pain, this one less intense, and he doubled over. Alec launched a bolt of magic over his back. Magnus heard a demon screech.

               “I’ve got you,” Alec said over the tumult. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

               Magnus fell to his knees. Suddenly, all he could see was flashbacks of his and Jace’s _parabatai_ ceremony—feel their hands wrapped together, feel Jace’s steady hand marking his chest and see his less steady one marking Jace’s.

               _Whither thou goest, I will go,_

_Where thou diest, will I die—_

Magnus gripped his chest again, desperately. Suddenly, he felt cold wind and heard a soft voice— _Jace, you were dead_ —

               _I’m okay now_ —

               Magnus could have sobbed. The rune had returned; he could feel it thrumming with his heartbeat. He could see Jace, could feel him again. He was alive. Jace was alive.

               _What the hell was that?_ he thought, breathing hard. Then he shook himself. This was no time to ponder that. He could beat Jace up once this was over.

               He rose back to his feet, pulling his sword off his back. He felt Alec’s shoulders lean against his, and they stood, back to back, in the circle of demons that were pacing warily around them.

               “What was that?” Alec asked.

               “Remind me to punch Jace once we’re done with this,” Magnus replied. “I have your back.”

               “And I yours.”

               On one cue, both men launched themselves back into the fray.

 

The war was over, and both Magnus and Alec were still alive.

               The silence was almost louder than the tumult. Magnus slowly lowered his sword until the tip touched the ground, looking around. Alec was breathing hard, both hands raised to his chest. Buildings were collapsed. Ichor was strewn about. Magnus could see bodies in the street.

               But among it all, the two of them stood side by side.

               Magnus took two steps forward, his feet crunching on the rocks. It echoed against the buildings. Then he turned to look back at Alec. The warlock slowly lowered his hands, looking around.

               The clatter as Magnus dropped his sword was deafening in the silence. He ran at Alec and threw himself at the warlock. They both staggered and fell to the ground. Alec hugged Magnus back tightly and they sat like that for the longest time, each afraid to let go.

               “We did it,” Magnus was saying, over and over like a mantra into Alec’s shoulder. “We survived, we did it, we made it.”

               “It’s over,” Alec whispered into his hair, kissing his temple. “It’s over now.”

               Magnus felt his throat tightening and he shut his eyes. _I won’t cry._

               “Hey, come on,” Alec said softly, attempting to pull away. “We have to go find the others. Let’s go back to the Gard.”

               “I don’t want to,” Magnus whispered. “I don’t want to go back there, where I have to not hold your hand, where I can’t touch you, where I have to pretend I don’t love you.”

               Alec stopped. “Where what?” he asked, mouth barely moving.

               Magnus’s heart was pounding in his throat, and tears welled up in his eyes. “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you, Alexander.”

               Alec pushed him away suddenly, holding him at arm’s length, big blue eyes fixed on him. “Say it again,” he whispered.

               Tears rolled down Magnus’s cheeks. “I love you,” he whispered, voice breaking.

               Alec clutched him close and kissed him with such fervor Magnus was sure they wouldn’t break apart ever again. He knotted his fingers in Alec’s hair, kissing back with almost desperate passion, each hardly daring to breathe, surrounded by death and destruction but they had each other. Magnus felt his body shaking with repressed sobs as tears continued to run. He felt Alec’s fingertips digging into his back, undoubtedly leaving bruises but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

               They finally broke apart, each gasping for air. Magnus was stunned to see tears in Alec’s eyes as well.

               “I love you too,” he whispered, very quietly. “I love you so much. I love you, Magnus.”

 

They stood outside the Gard, Magnus hesitating. He was reluctant to let Alec’s hand go, but he understood their need to enter.

               “Hey, what happened to confident Magnus?” Alec asked gently. “What was it you said? ‘I know who I am, and I am confident in who I am. Why should I let what others think of me get under my skin’?”

               Magnus smiled weakly. “That’s fine for hypothetical relationships, when they were just calling me a faggot behind my back.”

               “If they say anything, I’ll kiss them too,” Alec said with a grin. Magnus laughed.

               “Do you ever stop to think that maybe we’ve switched dynamics since this relationship started?” Magnus asked. “At the beginning I would have been the one to threaten to kiss anyone who judged us.”

               “We’ve been through quite a bit in the past couple of weeks,” Alec suggested with a shrug. “I’m sure once everything goes back to normal, that dynamic will return.” He kept Magnus’s hand gripped firmly in his as they entered the Gard. Several heads turned to look, but few stayed. Many families were hugging or talking quietly among themselves

               “Alec! Magnus!”

               Jace jogged across the Gard toward them. His battlegear was shredded and his shirt had a large hole in the front. Magnus’s face twisted and he strode toward Jace, dropping Alec’s hand.

               “Magnus, wait,” Alec tried, reaching after him. Jace slowed to a walk, then stopped and took a step backwards as he saw Magnus’s face.

               “Fuck you,” Magnus swore, drawing back and slugging Jace in the jaw. The blond staggered and clutched the area, looking stunned. The olive-skinned boy then grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into a hug. “Do you know how badly it hurts when a _parabatai_ rune severs?” he demanded. “I don’t know what you did, but you almost incapacitated me.”

               Jace’s face fell slightly and he hugged him back. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am. But it’s over now. Valentine’s dead.”

               Alec went to join them, but a hand touched his shoulder lightly, making him turn. Maddox was standing behind him. He had donned Shadowhunter battlegear and had an Alliance rune marked on his forearm.

               “I was wondering if you were okay,” he said softly. “Walk with me, Bane.” He nodded toward the doors heading out of the Gard. Alec cast one last look at his boyfriend, who had moved from Jace to Izzy, and followed Maddox out of the building.

               “The war is over,” Maddox said as they emerged into the cold night. Now that the adrenaline from the battle had worn off, the cold settled into Alec’s bones and pierced his lungs.

               “With as little casualty as possible,” Alec added. “Did we…lose anyone from the Council?”

               Maddox shook his head. “Several are badly hurt, but none in danger of dying. In the scheme of things, the Council came out unscathed. We were very lucky.” He put his hands in the pockets of his battlegear. “Did you lose anyone from your family?”

               Alec shook his head. “None that I know thus far. I haven’t seen anyone past my siblings and Magnus.”

               “I wanted…your advice, Bane,” Maddox continued quietly. They stopped in Angel Square. The statue of Raziel was missing a wing; it lay shattered on the cobblestones. With one hand, Maddox put the pieces back together and raised the wing, reaffixing it to the statue with a flash of gray.

               “My— _my_ advice?” Alec clarified, raising his eyebrows. “Why me? There are so many warlocks that are older than me, or more powerful—I’d ask _Luxor_ for advice before I’d ask me.”

               “Ah, but that is the reason I’m asking you,” Maddox noted with a smile. “You are the last person who would use any possible influence to your advantage. Should I ask Luxor, well, you know as well as I exactly what he would say—anything that would directly benefit himself.”

               Alec smirked. “Yeah, probably.”

               “The war has ended. What is our next step?” Maddox asked. “I have an idea. I want to see what your idea is, and if you can change my mind.”

               “The Council’s next step?” Alec said. _What a loaded question._ He pondered this for a long while. Maddox, hands in his pockets, seemed content to let Alec think as long as he would.

               “I think it would be beneficial to keep relations with the Clave open,” Alec began slowly. “Maybe not a beck-and-call open treaty but keep the peace. Like our peace with Faerie.”

               “Be on their side if a fight should arise,” Maddox said, “but be no more involved than that.”

               Alec nodded. “I think we should help them rebuild—look at the mess the city is in, for God’s sake,” he added. “Then they’ll be indebted to us, at least a little bit, so we would be on even ground. That way, we can’t call any favors on them; however, they cannot do that on us either. After that, remind the Clave that we aren’t at their disposal, but should they need assistance, we’ll be available to help them—at a price, obviously.” He paused. “That’s what I think, at least.”

               Maddox nodded. “Glad to see we are on the same page, Bane. Sometimes it helps just to have someone echo what you’re thinking.” He smiled. “That is all I required of you. Why don’t you go back in and find your family? I am sure they miss you.”

               Alec hesitated. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

               “You can ask, but you may not receive an answer,” Maddox replied. “Or the answer may not be one you like.”

               “Why did you choose to fight?”

               Maddox raised his eyebrows.

               “You said it yourself to Aldertree,” Alec continued. “You’ve been alive long enough to watch Rome fall. Time should mean nothing to you. Why did you decide to fight here? You could have been killed.”

               “Have you considered your immortality, Alexander?” It was the first time Maddox had ever used his first name. “I have been alive for so many years that it means nothing to me. You told me you were twenty-five and I almost laughed. When I then found out that you were the child that Maryse Lightwood was carrying the last time I had seen her, it baffled me—why, that felt like last week! How on Earth could you be that child?” Maddox smiled. “But here you were.

               “I have seen empires fall, yes. I have also seen the aftermath of those empires’ collapse. What do you think would happen, Alexander, were Alicante to fall?”

               “The…Shadow World would collapse,” Alec realized. “The Upworld would vanish. Valentine would have destroyed it from the inside out. We wouldn’t exist.”

               “And those of us that survived would be forced into hiding,” Maddox confirmed. “The Shadow World would implode on itself and without Shadowhunters, demons would run rampant. It would, by proxy, destroy the mundane world as well.

               “As for your other statement—yes, I could have died. That was a very real possibility, and one I considered from the very beginning. Two thousand years is a very long time.” His gaze became distant. “I will be honest—maybe part of me wanted it. Maybe that was why I agreed.

               “And then while we were fighting, I thought—maybe I could stand to live another few years,” he continued. He chuckled. “After all, I’ve made it this long. And if I’m going to fight for this world, I should at least try to survive this so I can enjoy it a little longer. At least with people like you around, Alexander, maybe it won’t be too dull. Plus”—here he fully turned to Alec—“I can’t just leave the Council to its own devices quite yet, can I?”

               Alec laughed. “That’s true.”

               “Thank you, Alexander. You gave me renewed hope for this world.” He put his hand on Alec’s shoulder. “I think when I finally relinquish the chair for Council Head, you’ll be my successor. You’re the only one there who wouldn’t want it for power. I could rest easy knowing the Council was in your hands.”

 

Alec returned inside with Maddox, and Magnus greeted them at the door.

               “Hey, have you seen the kids?” he asked. Maddox raised his eyebrows.

               “I didn’t realize you had children, Bane,” he said. “Congratulations! Are they the two of yours’?”

               Magnus turned bright red and Alec’s face burned. “Not _my_ kids,” he muttered good-naturedly. To Magnus, he said, “Kiera and Max? I haven’t seen them. I figured they’d be with you.”

               “Kiera was for a moment, but she said she and Max got separated during the fight and when he wasn’t with us, she took off to go look for him,” Magnus explained. “Jace, Declan, and Niall went with her.”

               “He’s probably around,” Alec reassured him. “Give him some time to come back. If anyone can find him it’ll be Kiera.”

               “I’ll leave you to it,” Maddox said. “Bane, call on me if you need anything.” He nodded to Magnus. “Well met, Lightwood.”

               “And you,” Magnus said, nodding back. Maddox left with a final thought to Alec— _if you cannot find him, let me know._

               _Thank you_ , Alec thought back. Magnus came closer after he left and kissed Alec lightly on the cheek.

               “What was all that about? I saw you guys leave,” Magnus said softly.

               “He just wanted to talk about some Council business,” he said vaguely. “You can’t find Max?”

               Magnus shook his head. “None of us have seen him since the fighting began. Maryse said she told the kids to stay in the townhouse, but they ran off to fight not long after the towers fell.”

               “I can try to track him if we have something of his,” Alec replied. “I’m not sure how much magic I have left.”

               “I was wondering—does the Alliance rune sap your energy when I use magic?”

               “I think so,” Alec replied. “So unless you used an obscene amount during the fight, I should have enough to cast a tracking spell.”

               They wandered back toward the group, where Maryse seemed to be in a trance. Izzy was standing with her mother, obviously reassuring her.

               “Do we have anything of Max’s?” Alec asked her. Maryse looked up at him for a long moment, as if she didn’t recognize him.

               “You have blood on your face,” she said instead. Alec reached up, confused.

               “Here.” Magnus touched his forehead with his fingertips and Alec felt the familiar warm tingle of magic on the skin there. “Just a cut,” he murmured. Alec used the sleeve of his shirt and wiped at his forehead.

               “Are you going to track Max?” Izzy asked. Alec nodded. She rummaged in her pocket and then pulled a small object out, placing it in Alec’s palm. It was a small white button with some thread still attached to it.

               “It was on his dress shirt,” Izzy explained. “It snapped off and I took it so I could sew it back on, but I never got the chance.”

               “What’s wrong with Maryse?” he asked quietly. She had turned to stare at her hands, folded neatly in her lap.

               “I think she has a concussion,” Izzy replied. “Plus, we can’t find Max, so I’m sure that doesn’t help.”

               Alec swallowed and leaned in closely. “You know that this won’t work in the…worst case scenario.”

               Izzy nodded. “I don’t want to think about that,” she said, “so find him, Alec.”

               Alec, always the pessimist, was less than optimistic. But he closed his hand around the button and closed his eyes. Casting out his senses, he began sifting through all traces of the boy that were popping up in his subconscious.

               For a long, heart-stopping moment, he couldn’t find anything. His eyebrows knit together and he muttered, “Come on.”

               There was a long silence and then he heard shifting rubble. It wasn’t much, but there were a few specks of light and the sound of gravel falling. A cough and a small cry of, “Anyone.”

               Then the vision faded. Alec’s eyes flew open and he inhaled sharply.

               “He’s alive,” he gasped, “but I think he’s trapped.”

               Izzy and Magnus, who had both sat down, leapt to their feet.

               “Let me go find Dad,” Izzy said. “I’ll have him stay with Mom and we’ll go search for him.”

 

“Max!” Kiera shouted, her hands shaking. “Maxwell!”

               “Hey, Max!” Declan was just behind her, hands cupped around his mouth. “Make some noise so we can find you!”

               Jace and Niall had gone in the opposite direction once they had reached a fork. Kiera and Declan had crossed the Princewater Canal, heading deeper into the city, where the fighting had been the worst.

               “Max,” Kiera called again, but her voice broke. She jammed her fist against the back of her mouth. “Dec, what if he didn’t make it?”

               “Hey.” He knelt in front of her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She once again realized how tall he was compared to her. It was one of the things she hated about her brothers. “Did he tell you he’d be your _parabatai_ or didn’t he?”

               She nodded. “We agreed on it. Promised that after the war we’d do it.”

               “Then it’s going to happen,” he said with a smile. “The Lightwoods don’t break their promises.” He brushed his thumb across her cheek, catching a tear that escaped. “Now come on. Let’s go find him. Do you have your stele in case he’s hurt?”

               She nodded, pulling it out of her coat sleeve. She had run out without her coat, but Declan had brought it when he had run after her, saying it was too cold for her to be in just battlegear.

               “Let’s keep searching then.” He rose to his feet and kept walking. Kiera backhanded her eyes and ran after her brother. She raised her eyes and saw, on the other side of the river, light cresting the top of the hill. From the smell, she could tell it was a fire.

               “Dec? What’s that?” she asked, pointing. He followed her gaze and his face darkened.

               “They’re…funeral pyres,” he said slowly. “For the dead.”

               Her eyes got wide. “We—We burn the dead?”

               He nodded. “It’s a tradition. We take them to the highest end of the plain and light the pyres to send them on their way to the Angel.”

               Kiera felt sick thinking about what she would do if they had to take Maxwell up there. Tears blurred her eyes again and she rubbed them away. She knew he was alive. He had promised her. He _had_ to be.

 

“Max!” Izzy cried. Alec cupped both hands over the button and cast another spell again. This time the image came faster, and some of the rubble was cleared. He could see a tall building across with a shattered second-story window and a white door hanging off the hinges.

               Alec opened his eyes and looked around. It didn’t take long to catch sight of the building—it was about a block away and from a different angle but undoubtedly the same building.

               “There,” he said, breaking into a run. Magnus and Izzy took off after him. He heard a shriek of _“Max!_ ” from ahead, and Declan’s cry of “Kiera, wait!”

               “They found him,” Alec realized aloud. They arrived and found Kiera bending over a large wooden support beam, nearly bent double over it. A weak voice was speaking to her.

               “Max, by the Angel,” Izzy gasped, stumbling past Alec and leaping the support beam.

               “His legs are stuck!” Kiera shouted to Declan, and began to scrabble in the rubble to try to move it.

               “Kiera, back up,” Alec said, holding out his hands. Magnus joined him. Before running off, they had redone the Alliance rune; Alec had figured if Max was trapped they would need it. Together, they wrapped tendrils of blue magic around the support beam, which was thick as Declan was wide, and began lifting it. Magnus’ end barely moved.

               “Picture the magic like extensions of your arm,” Alec instructed. “Bend it upwards like you would if you were picking up a stick.”

               It shifted and groaned. Rubble and gravel spilled down the sides of the incline, and Declan rushed forward to assist Izzy. Magnus was biting his lower lip hard and focusing intently on not letting the beam slip. Declan’s head popped up.

               “We got him,” he shouted. Alec and Magnus settled the beam back down. A large cloud of dust puffed up around it. Almost before it had settled, Magnus ran for his brother. Alec made sure it wasn’t going to roll before following suite.

               Max’s glasses were broken and he clutched them in one hand. His face was scratched and dusty, the rock dust having stuck to the blood and made some sort of crude paste. Izzy was Marking an _iratze_ on his shoulder while Declan made another on his other forearm.

               “Painlessness,” he explained as Max looked over blearily, “and Rest. Just relax, buddy, we’ve got you now.”

               Max smiled tiredly at Kiera. “Does this mean we’re _parabatai_ now?” he asked her. Declan smirked and Kiera, who was obviously trying hard not to cry, smiled back.

               “Of course we are, dummy,” she said, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.

               “Good,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “I’ve always wanted one.”

               “I’ll carry him,” Declan offered. Izzy lifted the semi-unconscious boy onto Declan’s back, and the other Shadowhunter stood somewhat unsteadily. He smiled at Magnus and Alec, who had unconsciously taken each other’s hands.

               “That means no casualties,” he said softly. “Let’s head back to the Gard.”

 

“So where are you taking me on our date?” Magnus asked as they walked. Kiera was alongside Declan and Izzy, checking on Max every five seconds like an overprotective puppy.

               “Where would you like to go?” Alec asked. Their hands were linked again; this time, Alec wouldn’t let him drop it once they returned to the Gard. He was tired of fearing the Clave.

               “I’m ready for a nice dinner somewhere,” he said with a laugh. “Something I have to dress up for.”

               Alec wrinkled his nose. “I hate dressing up.”

               “We’ll fix that,” Magnus said with a wink. Alec chuckled.

               “It’s still kind of surreal.” Magnus looked up at the sky. “It’s hard to think that all our work is…done. It’s over. Valentine’s dead, the fight is over…and we made it.”

               “We did,” Alec agreed, gripping his hand tighter. Magnus stopped walking, and Alec stopped with him. Izzy turned and looked at them, nodded once, and turned back around. Once Declan and Izzy had moved out of earshot, he turned to his boyfriend. “What is it?”

               Magnus smiled. “I just wanted a hug.”

               Alec felt his heart flutter. He stepped forward and pulled Magnus into an embrace, pressing his cheek into the other’s hair. Magnus’s arms went around his torso and he snuggled into his neck, pressing a kiss there. Alec smiled and kissed his temple.

               “You know, I’ve always wished for a relationship like this,” Magnus murmured. “I used to think I’d have this with Declan, when we were younger.”

               A bit of jealousy sparked in Alec’s ribs, but he smothered it immediately. _Now isn’t the time to become jealous_.

               “I honest to God never thought I would,” Alec admitted. “Ragnor always told me I’d find someone like you, but I never believed him.” He took a deep breath of sweat and dust, but under that it was Magnus, always Magnus. “I love you so much.”

               “I love you too,” Magnus said, pulling back to capture Alec’s lips in an actual kiss. “So much.”

               Alec took his chin in his fingertips and studied his gold eyes. Magnus’s cheeks were pink, and the warlock assumed not from the cold. Wordlessly, he kissed him again, over and over until their legs were stiff with cold and the sun had begun to rise over the remains of the funeral pyres.

               Valentine was dead. The Circle was no more.

               All was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WAIT I DO KNOW WHAT I'M DOING WITH MY LIFE
> 
> O N E S H O T S
> 
> Keep an eye on my profile if you're eagerly awaiting more Magnus Lightwood / Alec Bane content because it's coming! I'll be posting all the oneshots together in one story to make it easier for people to follow. As of now, I have six planned!
> 
> Please leave a comment, with comments, questions, concerns, rages, reviews, anecdotes, sob stories, epics, grievances, and tales of woe!
> 
> Thank you all S O M U C H for bearing with me over these two long, awfully spaced out years, through my shitty posting schedule, silent hiatuses, and disappearances for months at a time. You guys have been AMAZING and are absolutely the reason I love to post on here!
> 
> Til the next installment - keep writing, my loves!


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